A Heart Always Knows Where to Find Home
by Nina La Vough
Summary: Soul mates. That's what most people would call Woody and Jordan... two people destined to find each other and fall in love regardless of the time and circumstance...Written by NCCJFAN and cjfann. Definitely AU.
1. A Full Shift Later

**This time Nina is nccjfan and cjfann and we don't own Crossing Jordan. But we wish we did.**

**The inspiration for this came from a line Jo (cjfann) wrote in Cognac Diamonds and a Guy Named Roby -- . _Like somehow they knew each other before...almost as if they were lovers in a former life. Soul mates, Lily would call it. When two souls enviably find each other life after life. _**

**Never one to let inspiration fall by the wayside, Sherri (nccjfan) proposed an AU Jordan/Woody story, dealing with the idea of them being soul mates. Careful attempts have been made to keep the characters' traits and personality intact, even though they are no longer living in 21st century Boston, but rather the Wild West.**

**And yeah, we know the concept of a Sheriff Woody (ie Toy Story) is going to get some chuckles. **

**Special thanks to Bourbon and her story _Matter of Time_. It inspired us, too.**

**Chapter One**

**A Full Shift Later**

Woody scrubbed his hand on his face. He was exhausted but he felt...great.

The newspapers and news reports were all a buzz about a major smuggling bust that came out of the department. Woody was there, maybe not quite front and center, for the climatic ending the night before. But close enough. He may not have been on the short list of arresting officers but he was still an important part of the task force...along with his solid contacts in the medical examiner's office.

So what if he was called in for his pull? This was a big bust and he was part of it. He was there when the "atta boys" were being past around outside of booking. With the knocks his reputation had been getting the ego boost didn't hurt.

All that was left was to dot the i's and cross the t's on his end of the report. That was reason he was still sitting at his desk a full shift after the primaries dragged the suspects into custody. Woody wanted to hand his report in to the DA's office personally. Even having an inflated ego didn't make Woody forget he still had to repay to debt he owed...and if a little brown nosing helped...

Woody jumped when yet another newspaper was tossed on his desk.

"Your _buddy's_ take," Woody's lieutenant pointed out over the rim of his coffee cup. After his little public display with the reporter, JD Pollack, last winter Woody found it difficult to get though any conversation about the plague of the press without someone making a crack about his so-called "relationship" with the writer. Normally he dished it back as well as he got it. There wasn't any doubt around the bull pen there wasn't any love lost between the cop and the reporter.

"I guess since he nothing to bust you about he didn't name you by name…but there is a nice sound bite about the low ranking homicide detective who's in the ME office's back pocket."

Woody thumbed the paper and snorted at the byline. He was too tired to make any smart ass comment.

"When was the last time you slept? That report can wait until morning. Go home get some rest...you deserve it..."

Woody pushed one last button on his computer. "Too late...it's done."

"Good. Get the hell out of here...that's an order."

Woody took a minute to log down and grab his jacket. He had to admit at six o'clock that morning he was still running high on the adrenaline of a big bust...but now at six in the evening he was just running on fumes. He was in his second wind, but that was fueled ninety percent caffeine and ten percent of not want the heady rush to end. As he walked out he wondered if Nigel had any thing he wanted to tag on to his report.

A quick stop at the morgue. Home and sleep could wait.

* * *

Jordan looked up and down the corridor to make sure she was alone before she shook her hips in a little happy dance. Last night a case they had all worked long hours on broke. For the first time in weeks she was oddly free in more ways than one...both professionally and personally.

She came home late one night to find her spare key on the counter. There wasn't any note. It didn't surprise her. She and JD hadn't really talked in weeks. She didn't have the presence of mind to think about it at the time. They had a morgue full of dead mobsters and a gun smuggling ring imploding with every passing hour. Like wolves on the trail, she was with the team that kept the pressure on. At last it was over. The bad guys were behind bars. Now that she had a minute to think about JD, she realized that instead of being upset...she just had that familiar feeling of relief. Add the satisfaction of a solid case and she was feeling better than she had in a very long time.

She poked her head into Trace. "Nigel! It's time to go!" She waltzed up to his desk and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Can't you hear it? There's a pitcher of margaritas calling our name. Turn off that machine right now. Lily already left to snag a table."

"I've never been one to leave a good batch of tequila and lime waiting..." Nigel's fingers flew over his keyboard securing its files and turning it off for the night. Jordan wasn't paying any attention. She was busy turning everything else off.

"I haven't seen you this excited about just hanging out in along time..." he smiled.

"I've been ...distracted."

"Oh...so that's what they call it," Nigel said grabbing his helmet. He was just about to ask her about what happened with her latest distraction when the constant one walked in. "Speaking of distractions...Good evening Woodrow."

"Woody!" Jordan smiled. "We're just heading out to empty a pitcher or two at the Beef and Brew. I'd ask you if you'd like to join us but you look like hell."

Nigel cleared his throat instead of laughing. The young detective did look like he belonged on one of the slabs down the hall. By the scruffy face and wrinkled suit, it was more than oblivious that he hadn't taken a break since the operation the night before.

"I'm sorry. I thought my GQ photo shoot was scheduled for next week," Woody returned with a smug smile of his own.

Jordan didn't jump at the bait. She was in too much of a good mood. She walked out the door lightly brushing her hand across his stubbled cheek. "Go home, cowboy. Get some sleep. It's not against the law, you know."

Nigel slapped his shoulder as Woody tried not to watch her walk away. "You look like you could use a drink, mate. I'm sure we can find a spot for you at the table."

It was on the tip of his tongue to give in and agree with Jordan. He should go home and sleep...after all it was an order...but the idea of sharing a beer with good friends was just what he needed. No matter if Jordan thought he was her next call.

* * *

The Beef and Brew was decidedly busy for a midweek night. Lily was only able to grab a single booth and a couple of chairs. Bug called it tight...but Lily referred to it as intimate as Jordan walked in.

Tight ended up being an understatement when Woody strolled in the door behind Nigel and Garret, but after the first pitcher of margaritas they made do. In fact, things were down right cozy. Nigel told them the story of an unattended death turned homicide he worked on the week before. The defense had taken on a decidedly odd twist.

"...And then she said that it wasn't to blame for slipping her ex a deadly dose of arsenic ...he had been asking for it since they first met in Medieval England." Nigel's tone said he wasn't totally convinced the murderess wasn't speaking the truth.

"Oh...so things were rotten in Nottingham for everyone," Jordan harrumphed. "You didn't believe her...do you?"

Nigel simply arched his eyebrow. "It's not my place to judge..."

It was Lily who added kindling to the fire. "I've been reading up on hypnotic regression. It's the practice of searching for a person's past lives through hypnotism. It's very interesting, you know."

"It's not that far fetched of an idea," Bug said helping himself to a nacho chip off of Nigel's plate while the lanky Brit was deep in thought.. "Since the beginning of time, Hindus have believed in _metempsychosis_, the transgression of one's soul from one body to another, as the true path of enlightenment...it all a part of karma."

"My karma must have been something else to have ended up with the life I'm living now," Jordan quipped.

Nigel smiled at a point beyond Jordan's shoulder. She hated it when he did that. It made her feel like she was missing some earth tilling point...or someone was right in back of her ready to surprise the crap out of her. She casually looked over her shoulder to make sure.

"Some people believe that souls are not only reborn in worldly bodies...but are fated to find each other over and over again. Soul mates." Nigel said with absolute honesty.

"With my track record my soul mate must be stuck somewhere in a South American jail," Garret said into his third scotch of the evening. "...and can't get out..."

"That explains a lot..." Jordan countered taking the glass out of his hand.

"I'm in the belief that ours souls are intertwined and sometimes travel from body to body—bouncing back and forth in their quest, regardless of the earthly body's state," Nigel added.

"So it's like when you think you've found your perfect match only to wake up...one... morning and find out they're not the person you thought they were..." Jordan shrugged "That would explain the divorce rate."

"What do you think Wood? Does she have a valid argument for acquittal?"

Woody leaned back in his chair and tried to consider Jordan's question. He swallowed the last drag of the draft he had been nursing all night and realized his head was just too fuzzy to think straight. He just gave the party-line-cop answer. "I don't know. I'm not a lawyer."

"No, but you're falling asleep where you sit," Jordan said softly putting her hand on his shoulder.

He looked at her short, buffed nails. The dim lights and good company relaxed him to the point where he was feeling his body shutting down. He set his glass on the table along with a few bills. He quietly, but congenially, made his excuses and told everyone good night. He was half way out the door when he felt Jordan's hand on him once more.

"Do me a favor and give me a call when you get home."

"As fun as that sounds I'm a little too tired for phone sex, Jordan."

"Since you are pretty well out of it, I'll excuse that comment." she smiled. "I just want to make sure you've made it home alright."

"I'm a big boy Jordan...but I'll call. Go on," he nodded to the table. "I think you should worry more about Dr. Macy. Make sure he takes a cab. I'll talk to you later."

* * *

Woody felt like he put it on auto pilot all the way home. He dropped his suit coat as soon as he walked in the door and carried a fresh long neck into the bathroom with him. He had heard about Nigel's reincarnation case. It had been the subject of a myriad of jokes around the office for days. The suspect was being psychologically tested even though she seemed utterly sane in every other way. He was lucky. Their arms-smugglers were just crying for a lawyer. Talk about bad karma...even their high priced legal team knew they had them dead to rights.

After a quick shower he shuffled back into his living room. He was dog-dead tired, but he knew if he laid down right then he'd never sleep. He stumbled to the sofa and turned on his TV. Thumbing through the stations, he stopped on an old black and white John Wayne movie. It was just starting.

The early Duke movies were all the same. His character's name was always John something-or-another. Badge or not, he was always the lone voice of truth and justice in whatever part of the Wild West. Still, those movies were fun to watch. This particular one had him going head to head with the bad guys while saving the life and winning the love of his pretty co-star.

"Come to think of it...there was always a pretty girl to keep him close to town in the end..." Woody yawned.

Before he knew it, he fell asleep watching a travel-worn John Wayne swagger across the screen after riding into town on the trail of the villain. Even in his Hollywood makeup, The Duke looked confident...maybe even a touch arrogant... as he bellied up to the nearest bar looking for a drink, a little information, and a place to rest his head. Quick with a gun and a smile for the ladies, John something-or-another was always ready to what it took to save the day...

That was the last coherent thought Woody had as both the movie and the smuggling case faded from his mind and sleep finally claimed him…..


	2. A New Gun in Town

**Chapter Two**

**A New Gun in Town**

Jordan pulled the reins on her horse Camino to bring him to a halt. It had been a long day…Mrs. Frankin down along the bluff delivered her baby today…Today of all days…when Garret had been the busiest with his work as an undertaker. That had left her to go and help Mrs. Frankin by herself.

Not that she minded delivering babies….that was one of the good things about her job as a nurse/doctor. But the ample Mrs. Frankin weighed the best of 250 pounds, if Jordan was off by an ounce. Pushing a baby out of a woman that large was no party…it wasn't even a picnic. Sliding out of her saddle, she tied Camino up and walked into her father's bar.

Most women she knew wouldn't dare set foot inside a bar. It was a man's domain. But Jordan wasn't most women. She didn't look like one, talk like one, act like one and she sure as hell wasn't educated like most women. Whether it was because her father had raised her or she had chosen such an odd path in life, most people weren't sure. And to tell the truth, neither was Jordan. She just knew it fit her and she was comfortable with herself.

She wished her father was.

"Afternoon, Jordan. What brings you in here?" Max asked her from behind his place at the bar, a look of disapproval flickering across his face.

"Hi, Dad. Just delivered Mrs. Frankin's baby." Jordan ignored the look.

"Baby…that's right. She was in the family way. What'd she have?"

"Little boy…about 10 pounds worth."

Max smiled and continued to wipe down the bar. Jordan would never know how much he longed to hear that about her…that she was happily settled with her husband…content…and starting a family of her own.

But with Jordan slightly over thirty, Max knew that dream was fading with every passing birthday. Now Jordan was what most people in the town would call an "old maid," although Max resented the moniker. She was still young, still beautiful, and could still start a family, if she so desired.

However, Max wasn't sure the desire was anywhere in Jordan's heart right now…if indeed it ever was. And he partially blamed himself. He hadn't insisted that she chose a traditional way of life after they lost her mother…all he had wanted was to keep his daughter happy and healthy…but with Jordan being the only child and Max working at his bar in order to make ends meet, Jordan had been left on her own a lot…and had to take on a lot of responsibilities that normally should have been a man's job. She not only had to play most of the traditional woman's role…cooking, cleaning, mending and such, she also had to run his property claim on the north side of town while he was absent. This including dealing with the cattle and the horses…the fences and wild animals.

And she had done it with seeming ease. But when she took to wearing his old clothes while riding over the claim inspecting fences, Max had put a screeching halt to those activities, despite Jordan's protest that his clothes made more sense, riding astride instead of side saddle was more comfortable, and her skirts just got in the way.

He had promptly packed her up, telegraphed her maternal grandmother in Boston, and shipped Jordan there to finish her education. Max hoped and prayed that Margaret would be able to talk some sense into the teenaged Jordan and train her in more lady-like ways….in the ways Emily, Jordan's mother, had been raised.

At first Jordan had hated Boston…hated to wear a dress everyday…and gave her grandmother a hard time. But once she was introduced to Boston schools, all of that was put behind her. Jordan excelled in the rigorous academic standards and graduated at the top of her class…ahead of the even the smartest boy in the school. Max's chest had puffed out in pride.

Until she dropped another bombshell on him. She wanted to become a nurse.

The Civil War had just broken out and Jordan felt a need to serve on the battlefield…patch up the fallen soldiers….serve her country. Max protested loud and long, but Jordan's stubborn Irish mind was already made up. She signed up for classes under Clara Barton and the Red Cross and the next thing he knew, his daughter was putting her life on the line for both sides of the war. Jordan didn't care if they wore blue or gray, if the boys were hurt, she took care of them.

Part of Max was incredibly proud of his daughter. Her kindness, compassion, and ability to heal brought a commendation from then President Lincoln and later President Grant. How many women could boast of that?

However, Max feared the battlefield had forever altered his daughter. She came home a changed woman. Before she had hid her tendency to wear the cast off men's clothes around the claim and had at least acted traditionally in town. Now it seemed she no longer cared. And when Max asked her why, she replied, "Why should I? Why should I pretend to be a woman I'm not comfortable with? When someone's sick or dying, they don't care if I show up buck naked, just as long as I show up."

Jordan just simply no longer cared what other women or men in the town thought of her if she dressed differently, acted differently, or walked into her father's bar. She had chosen her path in life….medicine….and that was a road that didn't include being particularly keen on what people thought of her. And it certainly didn't include a husband or family all her own.

"Ten pounds? And you were there by all by yourself?" Max asked, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

"Yep. Garret was busy with those guys that were found out in the desert the other day…so he sent me. Could I have a sarsaparilla, Dad?"

"Sure….just a minute."

Garret…now there was another link in Jordan's life Max didn't know whether to curse or bless. Dr. Garret Macy had served on the battlefield with Jordan as a surgeon…and a damn fine one at that. Tough as oak and demanding as the chief demon of hell, he had been known for barking orders so loudly at the Civil War nurses that a large number of them were easily cowed and reduced to tears.

Not his Jordan. Jordan took everything the man threw at her and responded promptly and professionally to the point where she had won Garret's grudging respect and admiration. Within the process of a few months, Garret had only wanted to work with Jordan and between the two of them they had set a remarkable track record for saving lives and keeping limbs that most surgeons thought were hopelessly mangled and would require amputation.

When the war was over and Jordan was ready to take the train back home, Garret had tagged along. For a while Max had hoped it was because Garret was in love with his daughter and wanted to marry her. Come to find out, Garret was running from a bad marriage – he had a wife and a daughter back East and left to leave them in peace. He was coming West with Jordan to start a new practice and train Max's daughter to be a doctor. Max had nearly lost it then. Who in the hell had ever heard of a woman doctor? Was Jordan really smart enough to do that?

Garret had assured him that she was. Meanwhile, in the small town of Tyler in the Texas territory, there weren't a steady supply of sick folk. Garret made ends meet by also becoming the town undertaker. That was why he was busy with the men that the sheriff had found in the desert. It took time to build six coffins and then put the men away.

"Here you go, sweetheart. Now that you've played stork, what are you're plans for the day?"

"I'm going back to Garret's and see what's going on. Then I think I'll go back to the claim and take a long, hot bath."

Max smiled at her again as she finished her sarsaparilla. "You do that…I'll be home later."

"It's okay if you have to stay here tonight, Dad. I know it's busy right now…."

"I don't like you staying on the claim by yourself. Anything could happen."

"Anything could…but it's not. Relax. I'll be fine." And with that, Jordan slapped a few coins on the counter to cover her drink and ambled outside, pulling her skirts along side of her.

She didn't necessarily hate dresses, you know. She didn't like them because they got in the way while she had to work….that's why she hated to wear them. In Boston, she had worn dresses all the time and her grandmother had a seamstress make them to fit Jordan's very slender body, emphasizing her diminutive curves in such a way that made her look and feel more feminine. For a while, Jordan had even thought she could be a traditional wife and mother.

Until the war broke out and she had heard the horror stories of suffering on the battlefield. And she had to go. She had never regretted her decision, but had never found her way back to the woman she was before all that happened, either. The blood that still lingered around her short fingernails from Mrs. Franklin, despite a harsh scrubbing with lye soap, bore evidence of this. She needed to go see Garret, but first she needed to stop by the general store and pick up some yellow embroidery thread. She was probably more traditional than anyone really knew.

"Jordan!" A familiar voice greeted her once she entered Walcott's General Merchandise.

"Lily…" If Jordan had a best friend in this God-forsaken Texas town, it was Lily, the school teacher. Lily had never judged – even growing up as girls. But Jordan had found herself losing touch with her red-haired friend as they both got older and Lily chose a more traditional path in life.

"Have you heard the news?" Lily asked, walking beside Jordan as she looked over the embroidery flosses.

"What news? Mrs. Franklin's baby? I delivered it…"

"No, no….although I am happy to hear about it….No. We're getting a federal marshal."

"Sheriff Malden is leaving?"

"Sort of. He's retiring at the end of the month, or so I've heard."

"Good." Jordan finally chose the right color and made her way to the counter. "I never really liked him much anyway. How much is this, Rene'?"

"Two cents. Nice to see you in a dress, Jordan," Rene' said with a soft sneer as she took Jordan's money.

"Thanks…" Jordan gave the woman a hard look, but kept her mouth shut because the proprietor was good friends with Garret, who for some unknown reason, was returning the sentiment. Mentally, Jordan made a note to see if anyone else in the town carried the sewing thread she needed. "Old battle axe," she mumbled to Lily.

"She's just jealous because you spend so much time with Garret," Lily replied.

Jordan mumbled something under her breath then about Rene' … something definitely not ladylike and something Lily, with her virgin ears, definitely didn't need to hear. Jordan knew she shouldn't let comments like that rattle her. She had heard them all too often during the two years she had returned from the battlefields. The women in the town needed her, but they really didn't like her or respect or….or accept her. By their standards, Jordan was an undesirable woman….not because she was anything like one of the few "fallen doves" in the small town, but simply because she didn't seem to fit in….anywhere. Jordan swallowed her pain and turned back to Lily. "So tell me about this federal marshal?"

"I don't know a lot…just that President Grant is sending him as part of the process for Texas to become a state."

Jordan snorted. "Yeah. Like Mexico's going to let this territory go so easily…"

Lily shrugged. "I don't know. All I know is that this guy is young and _single_. Isn't that exciting?" Lily nearly jumped up and down at the news. And probably would have if they hadn't been standing in the middle of town.

"Young, single, and probably looks like the southern end of a northern bound mule, Lils." Jordan paused outside of Garret's office. "But…I hope for your sake….he doesn't."

"My sake? I was hoping for yours," Lily replied before crossing the street to go back to her school house. Jordan's cheeks heated a little at the thought. No man would want her. Not the way she was now. Battle hard and a career woman. She was undesirable to more than just one sex in this tiny Texas town.


	3. The Pogue Mahone

**Chapter Three**

**The Pogue Mahone**

Jordan straightened her shoulders and buried her rough hands in her skirt pockets as the ever elegant Mrs. Simmons walked past her. Blonde and petite, Mrs. Simmons was always dressed like she was ready for one of those teas her grandmother use to drag her to. She reminded Jordan of one of those china dolls you could order from Rene's Montgomery Ward & Company catalog. Still...

'Missus Tallulah Simmons,' Jordan grunted. Jordan wasn't fooled by that wedding ring Tallulah wore. If there ever was a real 'Mister Simmons' Jordan would eat her hat. Mrs. Simmons, along with two other women, ran the boarding house at the edge of town. Gossip said she sold more than a bed and a home cooked meal...and Jordan believed most of the town gossip. Still the elegant Tallulah Simmons walked around town with her head held high. It didn't help that she was a damned likable woman. After trading pleasantries, Jordan looked up at the shingle hanging over Garret's office door.

_Dr. G. Macy Physician & Undertaker_

_and Associate _

Jordan smiled every time she saw it. She had it made special and brought in on the stage last Christmas. With its gold lettering it was easily the fanciest in town. Garret's first comment when he saw it was to say it made him sound like a piss poor doctor that would charge you whether he fixed you or not. Jordan reminded him he had an "associate" to keep his customers alive enough for return business. He then hung it proudly.

It wasn't surprising to see the office empty at this hour of the day. One quick look around proved the only beings in residence was the six men the sheriff found in the desert. Garret had them laid out in the parlor. They may have been strangers to these parts, but they were someone's sons or brothers. Death and unfamiliaritywasn't an excuse to treat these men like anything other then human.

Jordan wasn't afraid of death. Working in the battlefields she saw more then any other human being should. But there was something about the dead that fascinated her. She didn't need experience to see how these men died. Each one had an identical bullet hole right between the eyes. They were lucky the sheriff just happen to stumble on them or the desert would have left nothing but a pile of bones by morning. Sheriff Malden seemed to have a second sense when it came to finding unnatural deaths. If Jordan weren't such a trusting soul she'd question how. She leaned closer to get a better look at one of the bullet holes.

"Good afternoon, love."

Jordan jumped as if one of the newly departed had suddenly sat up and murmured the endearment in her ear. It took her a split second to place the foreign accent.

"Nigel!"

"That's _Lord Nigel_ to you," Nigel sniffed.

Jordan rolled her eyes. "I still don't see how you can call yourself a "lord" when you were born on the wrong side of the sheets."

"I can't be blamed for my father's philandering ways. He pays me enough to forget the fact that I'm his ill-begotten heir. It just amuses me to use his title to stick it to him half a world way. Now, if I could only convince you to marry me the old bugger would keel over and leave me the title out right."

"And live in a castle with nothing to do but eat bonbons and put up with your OWN philandering ways...I don't think so."

"Point taken."

Jordan gave him a warm smile. "Outside of scaring the bejesus out of me...what are you doing here?"

"I should think that would be obivious," Nigel said pointing to the corpses.

"Of course, you're here to make their daguerreotypes."

Jordan was always fascinated to watch Nigel work his magical wooden boxes. It amazed her that something that looked so simple could capture a person's likeness in a matter of minutes where an artist took days...maybe weeks. Still it made Jordan uncomfortable when Nigel would try to point his cameras in her direction.

"No. I brought my new wet slide camera," Nigel said studying the face of one of the deceased as if he were looking for the man's best side. "The daguerreotype is such old, delicate technology."

Jordan knew Garret liked to have a detailed description of all the unclaimed bodies that required his service. Should someone come along looking for them they could honestly tell them were to look. Nigel's pictures made that process easier.

A few mumbled words of direction heralded Garret before he backed into the room carrying one end of a crude pine casket. Sydney, a freeman who picked up odd jobs around town, hoisted in the other. Sydney was an intelligent young man that happened to be born during a dark time in eastern Texas. Handy with a hammer and a shovel he made he best of a bad situation making himself a very successful member of a town that once treated him as nothing more than a possession to be used and bartered. When it came to helping Dr. Macy, it didn't hurt that he wasn't afraid of a little blood.

Jordan stood back as they finished carrying in the remaining boxes. She helped loading the dead men inside and propping the caskets upright against the wall the posed the men for probably their first and last photograph.

While Nigel set up his equipment, Sydney rubbed his chin. "This has got to be the solid end of a full mob of dead from out in the bush in the last six months. It's getting more and more dangerous to be a newcomer to town. Make's a man right happy he can be called a local..."

Jordan heaved a sigh and nodded. "This is an even dozen by my count. They have to be all connected. Something's going on..."

Satisfied with his subject, Nigel opened the lens cap and tapped his foot to count the seconds. It didn't stop him from adding his own comments into the conversation. "You have to admit there have been more than a few new faces around the last few months and the ones that _do_ make it to town all look like they could be responsible. Sheriff Malden doesn't seem to be too concerned."

"Malden's an unmitigated ass," Garret mumbled. "Maybe this marshal the feds are sending can do more than drop these poor souls off on my doorstep then wait in his office for the men responsible to turn themselves in."

"I heard Missus Walcott chewin' him out the other day for not followin' up about whoever is leaving them field flowers in empty hooch-bottles on her back porch. She's sure it one of these strangers..." Sydney reported.

Jordan bit her lip and Garret cleared his throat. The silence dragged until Nigel capped the lens and pulled the slide. "I'm sure whoever has been loitering on Mrs. Walcott's back porch doesn't mean the woman any harm, my good man."

"You're probably right," Garret concurred with a grim smile. "Why don't you go grab some lunch, Sydney? We'll hitch upon the team and take these gentlemen up the hill this afternoon. I grabbed Peter to dig the holes already. "

Nigel moved his tripod over to set up his camera for the second shot. He took a moment to fixed one of the corpse's arms that had slipped from his chest. "He has a point, Dr. Macy. Malden doesn't seem too worried that he has had a dozen unexplained deaths on his watch..."

"He'll be someone else's worry at the end of the month," Garret said studying the corpse. He didn't like the marks around their wrists. He'd seen rope burns before. He had treated POW's that showed similar marks from being tied together in chain gangs while being transported from one place to another. "If only the dead could talk..." he murmured more to himself then any one. He slid the casket lid over the face Nigel had already captured. "I guess we should be lucky that they're sending a marshal is here for the interim after Malden leaves..."

"Why?" Jordan asked out of the blue. "I mean _why_ are they sending this man all the way from Washington? This is Texas. Even the railroads have decided to bypass this town. I'm sure that Grant has better things to do with his men then send them out here in the middle of nowhere..."

"You'll have to ask Madam Walcott and her hypochondriac lawyer, Brandau," Nigel snorted as he started his timing tap. "Rumor has it that Renee used her pull with the governor to send for him."

"I told you, those bottles are really spookin' her," Sydney added.

"You can't be serious! A few flowers in some old bottles..." Jordan stormed.

"No, my dear, Dr Macy's odd little romantic gestures are not what have them concerned...It's these strangers...dead and alive" Nigel grimly responded.

* * *

Marshal Woodrow Hoyt's first impression of the bustling little town of Tyler, Texas was almost underwhelming. 

A quick detour to the army fort a few miles outside of town confirmed his worst fears. The commanding officer, a man named Lt. Winslow, seemed able bodied enough but totally overwhelmed in his own duties. Understaffed and ill-supplied, his main concern was breaking and transporting the supply of Army mounts and cattle the locals sold to the government to make a living in the flat unforgiving terrain. He assured the young lawman that he'd give him as much support as he could. It didn't take much for Woody to read between the lines and realize he'd be on his own.

Marshal Hoyt prided himself in being a cautious man. He liked to see what he was riding into. He spent the better part of his first day by skirting the town, familiarizing himself with the topography, looking for any thing that would lead him to believe the dire reports that claimed the area was a hub for gun smuggling. After his first loop all he found was a few homesteaders and man digging graves in what was apparently the town cemetery.

As the sun began to arc its way westward, Woody couldn't help but think...so much for an assignment to make his career.

Before he checked in with the local sheriff Woody needed a place to rinse the trail off his body, a good meal, a better drink, and a place to rest his head for the night. Like every other town he'd hung his hat in the last few years, he knew the answer to all his needs could found in the local saloon. If they couldn't, they'd know where he could...

* * *

Jordan stuck around while Garret and Sydney buried the strangers in unmarked graves. Senseless death bothered Garret more than he'd ever admit. The years on the battlefield left more scars than the physical ones. She worried about him. 

When they first came to town, he spent time with the "widowed" proprietress of the mercantile. It was an odd relationship but it seemed to make him happy. But when Renee's "dead" husband rode into town Garret began to hit the bottle. No sooner did Mr. Walcott ride in that he rode out again...leaving Renee alone and with child. Even though Garret himself had left a family, he never quite recovered from it.

Now with these murders and the uncertainty of the town's safety, Jordan could see the strain in his eyes. Jordan decided to forgo her own desire to go out to the claim and indulge in some well deserved but utterly selfish alone time, and stayed around to make sure Garret had some dinner. She offered to buy him dinner at Lois Carver's place. She cajoled and teased saying that the curly-haired Irish woman's stew was always thick enough to stick to your ribs for four days. Garret just asked to be left alone with his journals. Six men's death would take awhile to document.

That didn't stop Jordan. She picked up a basket from Lois's she dropped half of it off to the office and took the rest back to the saloon. With her spending more and more time working for Garret she hadn't been able to take care of Max as well as she should. While the influx of strangers in and out of town was great for the business, Max wasn't happy about Jordan standing at the bar in the evenings. If she couldn't find an excuse, Jordan usually found herself securely locked in her father's upstairs office. More often then not Jordan found someplace else to be.

Jordan walked though the swinging doors and saw it was slow. Ominously slow. Word must have gotten around town about the six bodies found on the bluff. Men were staying close to home. Jordan gave Nigel a little wave when she saw him playing cards with a trio. He nodded back idly studying the cards in his hand. Sitting across from him was the owner of the local laundry and bathhouse. Vijay's name was far to long and to hard to pronounce. Most people called him Bug, because of his total _distain_ for the little six legged creatures that infested every community. By the sour look on his face Jordan could tell he wasn't too thrilled with sitting next to Peter, who, after digging six graves in the sun all day, was in desperate need of his services. Rounding out the four was Tyler's telegraph operator, the arrogant Matt Seeley. At least Jordan thought he was a jackass. Begrudgingly she had to be congenial around him. He was one of the many men that courted Lily. The prospects of him marrying her best friend brought a shiver of disgust up Jordan's back...but she had to admit he seemed to treat Lily decently...for a pig.

"Jahdan...I thought you were going home."

Max's Irish brogue came out when he was tired or preoccupied. One look in his clear eyes proved that in this case it was the later.

"Something came up. I brought you dinner," she grinned holding out the basket.

Max arched his eyebrow as if to tell her to make her way up the stairs.

"Dad, its slower then Pastor Stiles' Sunday lecture on the dangers of fallen angels."

"But he still makes his point...eventually." Max chuckled.

Jordan handed him the basket and pushed him toward the stairs. "Why didn't you go upstairs? Put your feet up for a few minutes and eat while it's still warm. If anybody needs anything...I can get it."

"Jahdan..."

"Oh don't '_Jahdan'_ me. If anyone comes in I'll yell...go."

Max looked around the room and saw everyone was quiet and happy. "All right. Ten minutes...then you high-tail it upstairs."

Jordan didn't answer. She just waited until he was halfway up the stairs before she rolled her eyes. With him gone she took the chance to steal a drink of her own. Jordan didn't make it a habit to drink alcohol, but she wasn't opposed to a sip of her father's home brew every once in a while. Today the Grime Reaper took six and the Good Lord gave back only one in the form of a ten pound baby boy. Making sure her father wasn't sneaking back down stairs Jordan poured herself a half a mug and tucked herself at the end of the bar where she could keep an eye on both the stairs and the door.

No sooner did you she lift the mug to her lips did the doors swing open.

The stranger was tall -- almost as tall as her father. His dusty, dung colored duster matched the dark, dirty Stetson on his head along with the hair underneath it. His scruffy beard made him look disturbing. Outside of the shocking pair of sky blue eyes, _dark_ was the best way to describe him. Jordan augmented _dark_ with _dangerous_ as he swaggered up to the bar brushing his coat back for anybody interested to notice the repeating rifle hanging from a strap on his side. Jordan doubted that the Henry was the only thing the stranger was packing. Jordan looked up the stairs half willing her father to come down as the stranger reached the bar.

* * *

Marshal Hoyt almost smiled when he saw the sign over the saloon he pulled up to. His Irish was rusty but he knew the name, _Pogue Mahone_, wasn't exactly something you uttered in proper company. After a week of on the trail he was in the mood for something a little less polite. He kept his eyes open as he tied his gelding up in front. He patted the paint gently as he strapped his rifle to his side. Woody liked to make a lasting impression when he rode into a new town. Fate had cursed him with face of a choir boy. He found it hard for people to take him seriously unless he made himself look like he had fallen far from the altar. 

The saloon was surprisingly pleasant. Numerous lanterns were suspended from the ceiling shining on the sparsely occupied room. The smell of fresh sawdust covered the underlying smells of tobacco, malt, and whiskey. The sweet smells of civilization.

For the first few moments he mentally assessed the occupants in the room. In that split second, he scanned the quartet playing cards and recognized the man he saw to digging graves. Two of the men were in shirt sleeves and obviously not packing, the fourth was dressed like a dandy. The long haired man's easy smile made him nervous but he made no move to his jacket. There were half-dozen others spotted around the room but they all seemed to be intent on minding their own business except for the one behind the bar. His eyes darted to the stairs, making Woody do the same. He flipped open his duster with a practiced action and kept walking. When nobody challenged him by the time he reached the bar, Woody let himself breathe. He looked again at the nervous one at the end of the bar and his breath was sucked right back out.

In his quick inspection it didn't register that the shifty-eyed bartender in an ill-fitting plaid shirt was in fact...female. Not only that...but choice female. Before the war Woody would never consider finding a woman in a bar attractive. Even this one. He was gentleman, engaged to be married only to come home and find out her father married her off to another man in his absence. War made sure he wasn't the same naive boy anymore. Now, he took pleasure where he could find it. Even in an occasional saloon. He didn't have the time or the heart for anything more.

She looked young...but deceivingly so. Her whiskey –colored eyes mirrored an old soul. This was a full grown woman. The chestnut hair that tumbled from a messy top knot was the same color as the mane of his horse...but a hundred times shinier. His fingers tingled thinking about wrapping one of those curls around his hand. The fine contours and soft skin of her face made him question how he could ever think she was a man...even for a second. He smiled to himself wondering if her skin looked just as soft all over.

Yes, he picked the right saloon. And if he played his cards right he would not only find a place rest his head tonight but a warm body to lay it on...

"That beer looks good," he smiled tipping his hat back. "You don't suppose I could get one."

Jordan was having trouble catching her own breath. She pushed her own beer mug away as Rev. Stiles' words about sins of alcoholism and fallen angels began to echo in her ears...because as sure as she was standing there with taste of brewed malt in her mouth she was looking on the face the Lucifer himself.

Misunderstanding her reaction Woody reached in shirt pocket and flipped a coin on the counter. "I think this should cover it..."

If possible Jordan's eye widened bigger as the twenty dollar gold piece circled to a stop in the polished oak. She tapped the beer, but left the coin.

"Nice place you have here," Woody commented once again scrutinizing room. With no movement upstairs, or from the occupants in the room, Woody turned his attention completely on the captivating woman in front of him.

"I just rode in. I'm looking for a bed for the night." Woody picked up the gold piece and stealthy slipped it in the open v of her shirt. Yes, he smiled, her skin was a soft as it looked. "Why don't we go upstairs and you can show me yours?"

Her arm swung out faster then he could react. Her soft fist hit his jaw with power that stunned him. Instinct kicked in and he was ready when she came at him with a cross. He grabbed her wrist and all but dragged her across the bar before she could connect again.

"I normally don't like to play rough, but..."

Before he could finish his response Woody felt the barrel of a small caliber pistol at the base of his skull and the click of the bullet fitting snuggly in the chamber. Damn.

Nigel's whisper was cold and crisp. "I suggest you unhand Miss Cavanaugh immediately. We buried six men here today. I'd love to make it seven..."

Woody's fingers danced over the Colt he had strapped to his thigh...

_One...two...three... _

Max's voice boomed from the top of the stairs. "WHAT THE SAM HELL IS GOING ON DOWN THERE!"


	4. Apologies and Impressions

**Chapter Four**

**Apologies and Impressions**

Woody took a deep breath. There was one man behind him with the barrel of a small caliber piston snugged against the base of his neck. A second man behind that one – of unknown height and weight. And Woody had no idea if the additional man was packing or not. Both men seemed to be thoroughly pissed that he had accosted _Miss Cavanaugh_.

_Miss…Cavanaugh_.

The man behind him had addressed her as such. Normally most men…even the most polite of men … don't call a town's fallen angels by _Miss._ Suddenly…Woody realized he had made a very grave and possibly very deadly mistake. _Miss Cavanaugh_ obviously wasn't one of _those_ women. He swallowed hard and put both hands up. Then he ever-so-slowly turned around to face the men, but not before he had caught the woman's eye. She was still angry. Her whiskey-colored eyes had changed to something dark and stormy.

"I'm…sorry…" Woody managed to stammer out. "I mean…she was at the bar…"

"See there, Jahden…that's what I'm telling you…you hang out at this bar and men are going to think…" Max began.

"I don't care what they think," the woman shot back. _Jordan…what the hell kind of name is that for a girl? That's a boy's name…_Woody thought. _And she is definitely no boy…_

"You may not. But I do. Either go upstairs or go home," the tall man said, coming over to Woody. "Now who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bar?"

_Nothing like getting right down to business…_"My name is Woodrow Hoyt. Federal Marshal." Woody kept one hand up while fishing for his badge with the other. The dandy behind him still had the barrel of the pistol held against his neck. Woody handed the badge to the tall man in front of him.

Max examined it for a minute. "Put your gun away, Nigel. He's legitimate. So you're the new marshal they've sent to take Sheriff Malden's place?" Max raised an eyebrow at him.

Woody nodded. "I've got orders from President Grant himself."

"Sorry for the reception, son. But this town's gettin' a little nervous about strangers. Seems every time one rides in, either they end up dead or something bad happens."

"No hard feelings." Woody went to lower his other hand after Max handed him his badge back.

"Whoa. Maybe not on your part, but there is on mine. You just asked my daughter to share her bed with you. I don't take kindly to that, Hoyt."

"I'm sorry, sir….it's just that…well…"

"I know, I know. Most decent women don't hang out at bars. I've tried to tell her that…"

"Dad…." Jordan tried to interrupt, but Max waved her off.

"But let me assure you that just because she dresses a little differently…."

"Dad…."

"Jordan is a decent woman. Very decent."

"DAD!"

"What?" Max asked innocently, "I'm just trying to get you an apology."

Woody stifled a grin. Turning slowly back around, he eyed Jordan, whose cheeks were now a becoming shade of pink. _I bet her skin would flush all over like that if I …_Woody bit back a moan. He had been on the trail too long if that was what he thought about in the presence of a "decent" woman. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, his hand going to his Stetson to tip it to her. "I didn't know you were helping your father at the bar…I'm very sorry to have offended you in anyway. Please accept my apologies." He extended his hand to her.

Jordan looked at it as if it were a Texas rattler…at least for a full two seconds…this Lucifer had manners, even if his eyes were still cold. Hesitantly, she put her much smaller hand in his and felt his fingers close around it…all sinew and steel as it caged hers for a full moment before he brushed his lips over the back of her hand. Jordan felt a shiver run up her spine and lightning shot up her arm -- as if the devil himself had branded her as one of his own. As soon as Woody loosened his grip for a second, she pulled her hand back and hid it in the pocket of her skirt.

"Okay, Jordan. Back upstairs for you. I left you some dinner. Go eat and then get home. Stay out of trouble for once."

"Yes, sir," Jordan said, almost meekly, if Max heard right. The new marshal had seemingly stolen her voice along with a kiss. Max, Woody, and Nigel watched her as she ascended the stairs, went into her father's office, and closed the door. Woody nearly grinned outright when he heard the click of the bolts tumbling. She had locked herself in.

"So what do you need, Marshal Hoyt?" Max asked, pulling Woody's attention back down the stairs.

"I was looking for a place to get a good meal and a good drink…somewhere to clean up and get a decent night's sleep before I have to meet Sheriff Malden tomorrow."

"Well, the good drink you can get here." Max went behind the bar and pushed Woody's untouched mug to him. "And when you're through with that one, you can have another…on the house…seeing as how my daughter upset you. As far as a place to clean up, Bug there," Max jerked his thumb towards Vijay, "can help you out with that. He runs the laundry and the bath house. Cleanest place you'll find in this town."

Woody glanced at Bug, who had put his cards down. "I'll go run you a bath, Marshal. My place is across the street. You can come over as soon as you're through with your beer." Bug nodded goodbye to his fellow poker players, put on his hat, and got ready to leave. "And Peter, I'll run one for you, too."

"But it's not Saturday, Bug…"

"I don't care. Some things can't wait and a bath for you is one of them…especially after digging those graves today out in the hot Texas sun."

"He's right, you know," the tall British man said, coming from behind Woody. "You need a bath, Peter." The man turned towards Woody. "Nigel Townsend's the name. _Lord Nigel Townsend_." He held his pale, bony hand for Woody to shake…which was done somewhat reluctantly. "And after you're finished at Bug's, I can take you over to Mrs. Simmons' boarding house…she'll have the hot meal, the clean bed…and the other _thing_ you obviously wanted to partake in tonight." Nigel raised knowing eyebrows at Woody.

Who for some reason felt a near blush rising to his cheeks. He was no longer innocent…far from a choir boy…but somehow these men knowing he needed a female badly enough to solicit the barkeep's daughter embarrassed him.

"Oh, and my name is Max," the saloon owner said, extending his hand for Woody to shake. "And my daughter's name is Jordan…in case you didn't figure that one out."

"Thanks…and call me Woody…everyone else does," Woody said, picking up his beer mug and swallowing half the contents…feeling some relief as the dry dust of the trail was rinsed off his insides at least. If he was lucky, he'd have a full belly, a clean body, and someone to share the night with before long. He swallowed the other half of the mug.

"And meanwhile, I'll escort the lovely Miss Cavanaugh back out to your claim, Max," Nigel said, turning and going up the stairs. Max nodded his approval.

Woody nearly spit out the other half of his beer.

* * *

Woody sighed inwardly as he tried to keep up with Sheriff Malden. After a good night's sleep…alone in a clean bed because he simply decided he was too tired for anything else…he woke up to a clear, hot Tyler, Texas morning. A quick two-egg breakfast and three cups of coffee later found him at the Sheriff's office introducing himself to Malden and presenting his federal papers for inspection.

Malden seemed to take it all in stride. He showed Woody around the tiny sheriff's office and acquainted him with the paperwork. It was nothing that Woody hadn't seen before…and nothing he couldn't handle. "Have you seen the town?" Malden asked.

"Not much of it. It was dark when I rode in last night," Woody lied. While he had spent the better part of yesterday skirting around the town, no one needed to know. He had garnered his own impressions…now it was time to see the town through someone else's eyes…to weigh his impressions against theirs…and see how accurate he was.

"Good…good. Come with me. I'll give you the two cent tour," Malden said, grabbing his hat and opening the door. Woody followed him out onto the wooden walkway.

"Tyler's usually a quiet town," Malden said, rocking back on his heels and pointing across the street. "That's Walcott's General Store. Mrs. Renee Walcott runs the place. She has a little daughter…and no husband. He ran for the hills a few months ago. Real shame…" Malden took off down the street, with Woody following in his wake. "This is the telegraph office. Matthew Seeley runs that. A pompous young man if there ever was one…I keep telling him 'pride goeth before a fall', but he doesn't listen. Still…he's very good at what he does…and if anyone knows the goings and comings of really important information, it's Seeley. Always tried to stay on the good side of him so that he would feel that he could come to me with information I may need."

Woody nodded. Seeley was one of the men he saw playing poker at the Pogue last night.

"And that's Mr. Vijay's … Bug's… laundry and bath house. Everyone comes to Bug at one time or another. He's another source you may find good to tap into…"

"Why do they call him Bug?" Woody asked.

"His real name is ….well…it's one of those foreign things that's really too hard to pronounce. We call him Bug because he hates bugs….and in Texas, bugs get into nearly everything. So the man's waging an unending and loosing battle against the critters."

"Oh."

"And that's the Pogue. I imagine you went there first last night."

Woody nodded.

"Met Max?"

He nodded again.

"Max is a good man. He was sheriff before I was."

Woody was startled at this tidbit of information, but didn't show it. He just tucked it back in his mind, thinking that Max was a good source to have, too…for more than just information. His daughter may not be a fallen angel, but that didn't mean that she might not like to spend some time with a federal marshal.

"And back over there, off the end of the street is the school house. Miss Lily Lebowski is the schoolmarm. But maybe not for long…"

"Why?"

"Matt Seeley has his eyes all over her."

Woody tucked this tidbit of information away, too…thinking that if he was ever introduced to Miss Lebowski, and even if she was drop dead gorgeous, to remember she was off limits. Woody didn't cut in on another man's woman. That went against whatever code of ethics he had left.

"And that is Nigel Townsend's house. Or should I say _Lord_ Nigel Townsend."

The affected way that Malden said it made Woody think the sheriff didn't think a whole lot of the man. "Is he really an English lord?" Woody asked.

"Evidently. Seems he's the biological product of his father, Lord Townsend the Fifth, and a woman that doesn't bear his last name. In return for Nigel not embarrassing his father in England, the father sent his son over here with enough money to keep his mouth shut. And the money just keeps coming…and he did give the boy his title."

"Must be nice…"

"Must be. Working stiffs like you and me wouldn't know how to act if that happened to us…This is the Simmons' Boarding House, but I imagine you knew that…and this," Malden paused in front of a building, his distain clearly written across his face, "is the town's doctor…if you can call him that…and his _associate_."

Woody looked at the shingle above door: _Dr. G. Macy Physician & Undertaker __and Associate_. He grinned. Even if the good doctor couldn't cure his patient, he could still get a fee out of the family.

Still…Woody had met many excellent doctors during his time on the battlefield. Good men. Men who fought just as hard to save lives as the boys in blue fought to keep the Union together. He shook his head at the memory and felt the scar on his belly burn. "And associate?" he asked. "Is there enough sick people in this town for him to have an assistant?"

"Garret's kind of an odd duck," Malden said, beginning his walk back over to the sheriff's office. Woody followed, listening to every word. "He was a doctor during the Civil War….a surgeon. He was on the battlefield when he met Max's daughter, Jordan."

Woody sucked in a deep breath. Two questions ringed his mind. First, was Jordan married to this Garret person, and secondly…most pressing….what the hell was she doing on a battlefield?

Malden took his silence as permission to continue. "Jordan…God himself still puzzles over her….Jordan had been in school in Boston…graduated well. Max was ready to bring her home when she bolts and signs up to be a nurse with the Red Cross. She and Garret meet up and supposedly she's one of the best nurses on the battlefield. They made a great team from what I've been told…probably in more ways that one." The insinuating tone in Malden's voice made Woody want to reach out with a right hook, but he simply balled his hand up into a fist behind his back.

"Anyway, when Jordan came back home after the war was over, Garret followed her and became the town's doctor and undertaker…and now he's training Jordan to be a doctor…"

"A doctor?"

"Yeah. Can you imagine that? A woman as a doctor? I sure as hell wouldn't go to a female doctor, would you?"

_If Jordan is like some of the battlefield nurses I've known, no. They were flighty and stupid. But something tells me she wasn't…_Woody remembered her hand from last night. He hadn't really thought about it before, but she had been reluctant to give him her hand…and when he took it, he vaguely recalled the fact that it wasn't soft like the rest of her skin appeared to be – at least the skin the backs of his fingers had brushed against at the open V of her shirt . No, the skin on her hands was rough and dry….like the skin of someone who had washed their hands far too often in lye soap to get the blood off of them. He remembered the nurses' touches after he was wounded. Their hands had been tender and compassionate….but the skin was rough and dry from all the times they had to wash their hands to get rid of the blood.

Just like her hand had been last night.

* * *

Woody wanted to peel the sweat-drenched clothes off his body just as soon as he was through with the two cent tour and got back to his room at Lu Simmons' Boarding House. Despite the fact that he had spent the entire day with Sheriff Malden, he felt he had nothing to show for his efforts but a set of sweat-drenched clothes and the knowledge the retiring sheriff was nothing short of an incompetent bastard. And that was on one of the sheriff's good days.

The sheriff had given him the run down on everyone in town…from Lois Carver to Mr. Vijay. He had heard all the biographies and all the town gossip, but yet not a word…at least voluntarily…from the sheriff about who he thought was involved with a gun smuggling ring. That was the primary reason Grant himself had commissioned this post for Woody. Army intelligence had wired into Washington that the tiny town of Tyler, Texas was a probable hub for gun smuggling into Mexico. Yet none of the townspeople appeared to be involved, other than being very suspicious of strangers.

So either it was strangers conducting the smuggling operation….or someone in town was covering their actions very well. He'd bet good money it could be that so-called English Lord…

However…he had no proof…and the sheriff didn't seem overly concerned about the dozen of dead bodies that kept popping up on the outskirts of his town. "We're a stop on the way west….of course, we're going to find bodies of unfortunate setters who don't make it…" Malden reasoned to Woody.

But twelve settlers that were shot between the eyes? If Garret had performed his undertaker duties on the victims, he'd need to talk to the good doctor tomorrow. Woody wanted to gauge what the doctor thought about those bodies…and if Garret and Jordan were married…or at the very least, a couple. Still…if she did belong to Garret, Woody couldn't see any man letting his fiancé…or girlfriend…work at a bar – even her father's bar.. At least not any man he knew…and certainly not himself. His woman would be home at night…taking care of his needs…and God knows he'd be taking care of hers.


	5. Mrs Tallulah Simmons

**Chapter Five**

**Mrs. Tallulah Simmons**

Woody added his sweaty long Johns to the pile of clothes he was stripping off his body. He would take them to Bug in just a few minutes. Buck naked, he carefully considered what to put on from his small stash of supplies, when a light tap on his door interrupted him. "Marshal Hoyt?" a soft, decidedly feminine voice said from the other side of the door.

"Come in," Woody responded.

Mrs. Simmons' lush body filled the narrow doorway. "I was wondering if you needed anything else tonight…before I turn in…" If Lu was embarrassed by Woody's nudity, she didn't show it. She didn't even blink.

Woody smiled. Mrs. Simmons was obviously a well-connected woman in this town…many of the men of Tyler had probably come to her for more than just a hot meal…"Yes….I believe I do…Come in, Mrs. Simmons…and close the door behind you."

Lu licked her lips, entered the room and shut the door behind her. Woody kept his back to the woman as he stepped into a clean pair of long Johns. He hadn't shown his scar to anyone but the doctor and he wasn't planning on starting now. It might bring up too many questions he still wasn't prepared to answer.

"Can I help you with that, Marshal?" Lu's silkily seductive voice brought him back to the present. She gracefully arranged the material of her bedclothes as she sat down primly on the edge of the bed and helped herself to the drink Woody had poured himself from the bottle she left on his dresser earlier. If it weren't for the fact that she was on a strange man's bed, in nothing but her bedclothes, and drinking liquor, Tallulah Simmons would have looked like she was sitting down to high tea with the President's wife.

Woody buttoned up the top of the garment before turning around. "No…not right now…but there is something you _can_ help me with, Mrs. Simmons…."

"Really? What?" Her voice was nearly purring. The new federal marshal was a fine specimen of manhood….one she wanted to claim…for reasons other than just business.

"You are obviously a well-connected woman Mrs. Simmons…one that knows the people of this community …some of them intimately…I need some information…"

"About who? I've only been here a few months myself. What would you like to know?"

Woody hoisted up his buckskins before he turned around to face her. His impression of Lu Simmons was that she wasn't the average fallen woman. She was intelligent and cunning. And she was very, _very_ selective...like one of those geisha-girls he read about in a book to learn more about the oriental culture in case he'd ever got called to go to California. She knew how to use her position to be invisible and passive and at the same time she commanded the ear...and confidence … of half the county. He felt safe to move on to the names on his list.

"Tell me about the fort. Are you friendly with any of the soldiers? Tell me about Lt. Winslow."

Lu arched her eyebrow at him and studied him coolly. He hit a nerve...but she still answered. "They occasionally ride into town. Ed...Lt. Winslow is a fine man, Marshal. Whatever you think is going on here, he and those boys have nothing to do with it."

"So much for the boys in blue."

Lu smirked then. "Unless I'm mistaken, The War is over."

Woody smiled back nodding his head slightly as if to say 'touche'.

"When the war started Tyler was little more than a shadow of a dot on the map. The people here were more worried about survival then they were national politics. Separatists and Loyalists had to work together just to get through. For most of the locals, The War was a world away. People had to eat. They didn't care if they were selling their herds to the North or the South as long as they got paid."

"I stand corrected. All right, what about Townsend? Why Tyler? What's his reason for being here?"

"He has a spread about twenty miles north of here. I understand they raise mutton...but I don't think he's ever stepped foot on it. Ranching isn't his cup of tea so to speak. He likes playing with his gadgets. My girl, Annie, goes over there a few times a month. They have dinner, sometimes she stays the night. He's very outgoing, but I doubt there are many that really _know_ him. But if you're asking me if he's a real English lord…the answer is yes. His father is, too…and Nigel is independently wealthy…he doesn't work. He doesn't have to."

"What kind of person is he?"

"Good…he has been in here a few times…." Lu let out a tinkling giggle. "But he's a good guy. Never causes any trouble…he's a fair hand at using at using a camera. Garret uses him to take pictures of unknown folks that die around here. That way, if the family is found, he can tell them where their deceased is buried."

_So Nigel works with Garret…therefore works with Jordan…this could fit together better than I thought. Nigel…leads to Garret…who leads to Jordan….who leads to….Max._ Woody felt like he had been dropped down a rabbit hole. A former sheriff possibly even distantly connected to gun smuggling to Mexico? Woody nearly shook his head over the thought. Instead he was able to remain casually nonchalant.

"What about Garret?"

"Dr. Macy? He's a good guy, too. From what I've heard, he was one hell of a surgeon on the battlefield…but a little scary. He could cow any nurse but Jordan…she's the only one that stood up to him. He followed her here after the war because they made such a good team."

"Is that all they are? Just a good team?" Woody sat down and began putting his boots on.

Lu shrugged. "I don't know. Other than a meal or two here, I never see Dr. Macy. I don't know if he and Jordan were an item, are an item, or are on again off again. I know for a while Dr. Marcy was seeing Mrs. Walcott…then her husband that she thought was dead showed up very much alive."

"Bet that was a shocker."

"It was to Dr. Macy. I did hear that after the undead Mr. Walcott showed up, Garret kind of crawled into a bottle of whiskey until Jordan got really angry at him and pulled him back out. Again."

_Jordan cares for Garret…that's evident…but just how much…and how much does he care for he? Does he care enough to turn a blind eye if she knows that her father could be wrapped up in this smuggling business…or what if she's helping?_

"What about Max? What does he think about Jordan and Garret?" He finished with his boots and reached for his shirt.

"I think Max likes Garret. Garret kind of helps him keep an eye on Jordan."

"What about Max Cavanaugh? Does he frequent any of your girls?"

"No. Roz likes to tease him but he never bites," she said shaking her head. "I don't think he's a saint but Max is a stand up fellow. He's hard working and honest. From what I gather he lost his wife years ago and never really got over it. But I wasn't in Tyler when Max was sheriff, if that's what you're asking. I came about the time Malden became sheriff and Max opened the Pogue. Max has never been in here…and I've never been in his bar…of course…I know he does send … _clients …_ my way if they need a room and I throw customers his way if they want a drink. It's a nice, clean, business relationship…"

"Tell me about Sheriff Malden."

Woody couldn't mistake the shiver that went through Lu's slender figure. She tipped back the drink and refilled her glass before she answered. "I can't say I'm sorry to see him go."

Woody stopped buttoning up his shirt and sat down next to her in the edge of the bed. The crack in her cool businesslike demander seemed almost...intimate...like it was something she rarely showed, even to herself. He found it hard to believe Tallulah would have anything to do with a man like Malden...at least voluntarily.

"He's hurt you." It was a statement. Not a question. Any little regard Woody had for the outgoing sheriff just dropped off the face of the earth. If the man wasn't leaving on his own in a few days he'd escort him out of town personally. What did he have on her? Before he left town Woody vowed to make sure that whatever it was, he'd find out and make sure it didn't hurt her again. Until then he would keep an eye on the boarding house.

Lu straightened her back and brushed her hand down the rope of her straw blonde braid. Woody knew she was regrouping. He let her take her time. Lu, in turn, chose her words carefully.

"Tom Malden is a very...compelling man. His power not only comes from the badge but inside. He maybe a small town sheriff but you don't want to cross him, Marshal."

"Do you think the twelve dead strangers crossed him?"

Lu's hearty laugh sounded just a little too practiced to Woody's ears. She had put up the wall that all whores did when they talked to their john's...regardless of their class. He wouldn't get anymore information out of her. "No, Marshal. If anything, Sheriff Malden is a law man. He doesn't have anything to do with what's going on around here."

Woody's gut instinct told him she was lying but he honestly couldn't tell. What he did know was she was afraid of the man...which he assumed was no small feat. He just couldn't tell if it was just because of the obvious abusive professional relationship or something even more sinister. He finished buttoning his shirt and strapped on his Colt. Lu stood up and pinned his star on letting her fingers linger on his chest longer then necessary.

"Why the twenty questions, Marshal? I was hoping you had something else in mind when you asked me in…"

"Maybe I do…" Woody gave the woman her best choir boy smile…one that was known to melt the resolves of even the most morally iron-clad virtuous maidens…to say nothing of those that were a little on the other side of virtuous. "But right now, I need to go learn a little more about the citizens of Tyler…but thanks for your input." Woody picked up his Stetson and walked to the door.

Her voice stopped him as he reached for the doorknob. "Shall I keep the bed warm for you, Marshal?"

Woody turned back around and smiled another one of those choir boy smiles. "Why don't you do that? I shouldn't be gone long…."

Her lips twitched in amusement. "I hate to remind you this is not the big cities you're used to Marshal, but out here the side-walks are rolled up at sunset. People are snug in bed."

"What better time to acquaint myself it...with the underbelly showin' and all...?" Woody punned, popping a peppermint in his mouth from a tin he carried and pulling his hat on.

"Ma'am," he said courteously, tipping his hat. Then he walked out of the room.


	6. The Bewildering Miss Cavanaugh

88888888

The canoe-shaped moon was just bright enough light for Woody to pick out the shape of the buildings around town. He rolled the sugar-candy in his mouth over his tongue and mused that Malden's tour had served its purpose. However, Woody was smart enough to know there was more than one side to every story. Adding Tallulah's observations, he wanted to take another walk around, without the whole town watching. Tallulah's sidewalks were firmly in place but there was something bad going on here. He could just feel it.

He had the town's players. Lord Townsend was on his short list...even though after his little talk with Mrs. Simmons he was a notch lower. The fancy accent and manners didn't mean anything. For a dandy he moved like a cat. Woody would bet the $500 expense money he rode in to town with that _Lord_ Townsend had some military training somewhere in his past...and most probably he was some kind of spook. His house was dark, but that didn't mean anything. Tallulah said he was a mystery. Was he really who he said he was? Woody was going to pay the man a visit in the morning and make his own judgment.

As he swung past the laundry the strong smell of boiled bluing and lye soap from the day's labored still wafted through the night air. Woody had to smile. Mr. Vijay's no-nonsense manner made the young law man comfortable during his disastrous first night in town. He matter-of-factly listed off his services, the prices, rules and regulations...all the while trying to coerce Peter in his own tub with all kinds of vile, parasitic descriptions of what happens to a man's body if he doesn't practice proper hygiene. It didn't take a genius to see that Mr. Vijay took great care and pride in his business...and that he most definitely had an obsession with bugs. "Bug" wasn't a man that had time to deal in guns.

Across the street the saloon stood quiet. The doors were shut. Once again, there was a place that looked well cared for and profitable. Still, there were some questions about Cavanaugh. Why did he resign as sheriff? He seemed like a man more suited for the job than Malden. What was he hiding? What happened to his wife? _What was the story behind his daughter? _

Woody sighed. He was spending far too much time thinking about Miss Cavanaugh...far more than just the passing embarrassment of mistaken identity. A half a decade ago he might have formally talked to her father about courting her. Woody blindly ran his thumb over his badge. Now, he was planning on talking to her father...but it was about his possible involvement in gun smuggling. A half a decade ago he was a bright young man ready to take on the world. Well, he did...and the world chewed him up and spit him back out, leaving him too rough around the edges to think about proper women. He had chosen his path in life and as a United States Marshal, home and hearth couldn't part of it.

He looked over his shoulder at the boarding house. The window of his room was dark but he knew Tallulah and all her cool, delicate blonde beauty as there waiting for him. It kicked him in the gut that when he thought about bedding her, all he could picture was chestnut hair, fiery eyes, and a right hook that made him see stars.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a light on at the doctor's office. It was too late to make a social call, but the questions he needed to ask Dr. Macy were far from the normal pleasantries. Then again, the sooner he had talked to all the village leaders the closer he'd be to doing the job he came to town for. _And the sooner he could ride back out to the next town, the next assignment, and forget about the woman with a boy's name..._

A quick look though the lightly covered windows proved that the light was coming from a room off the back of the building. Woody cut through the alley between it and the telegraph/stagecoach office and rounded to the back of the building. He stood in the shadows as Jordan and the man whom he assumed was Dr. Macy walk out to the stoop.

"Thanks for sticking around Jordan. When are these green farmers going to realize these Texan long horns are not the milk cows they are used to back east?"

Woody shook his head. He could only imagine one of the settlers had a run in with one of the big beast's sharp horns.

"I'm sure this one with be more careful from now on...Good night, Garret."

"_You_ be careful getting home Jordan. I better get back inside and double check his dressings. I'll see you in the morning."

Jordan stepped off the small porch. Woody melted further into the shadows and watched Jordan stride off toward the stables located behind the telegraph office. Woody noticed she had changed her dark skirts from the night before in for a pair of men's trousers. The denim encased a pair of unbelievably long legs that looked like they were made to wrap around a man's waist perfectly. He closed his eyes and moaned at the pictures floating across is mind.

"Who's there?"

Woody opened his eyes to see Jordan coming toward him with a small but deadly looking gun pointed in his direction. His first thought was how blindly stupid she was walking into a dark alley and how incredibly easy to would be over-powering her.

It wasn't past him to teach the bewildering Miss Cavanaugh a lesson.

Woody ducked around the corner and bided his time until she was within reach. Before Jordan could even draw in a breath to scream, she was locked in a pair of strong arms … one of which nabbed the weapon out of her hand. She didn't have time to think about her missing gun when she felt the whisper of peppermint-scented breath against her ear.

"Don't scream and I'll let you go..."

_It's you!_ Jordan recognized the new marshal's voice and willed herself to go limp.

Woody didn't realize she was playing possum until it was too late. He was seeing red after she bit the palm that covered her mouth and used the sharp heal of her boot to crush his instep. To insult to injury, she pivoted on her heal and kneed his groin rendering him paralyzed. The string of words that came out of his mouth should have any "proper" woman running for the hills. But then again, not all proper women were like the formidable Miss Cavanaugh.

"I don't need to scream." she said calmly fishing her gun out of the waist of his pants. She didn't quite hold it against his head but she didn't holster it either. "What the Sam Hell are you doin' out here? Are you _following_ me?"

"Does you father know you talk like that?" Woody said trying to clear his senses. "I'm sure Mr. Vijay has some nice strong soap if need be."

"Just answer the question."

"I was out for a walk. I saw the light. The question, Miss Cavanaugh, is what are _you _doing walking through dark alleys in the middle of the night?"

"I was working. You, marshal, are lurking."

"I was hoping to have a word with Dr. Macy."

"He's busy and it's late. Come back tomorrow," Jordan said turning away. Woody's arm snapped out to stop her. "Do you always make it a practice of manhandling women Marshal Hoyt?"

Woody left her go but didn't make a move to get out of her way. "Tell me about Dr. Macy, Miss Cavanaugh. I understand you're the person who knows him best around here."

Jordan arched her neck and quite affectively looked down her nose at the taller man. If he wasn't still feeling nauseous Woody would have laughed. He gave her a charming smile nonetheless.

"He's a fine physician if you should ever need his services." she said haughtily.

Woody's tone was cool and businesslike. "I'm sure. I understand he's makes a _fine_ pine box too, but I don't think I'm be needin' that. What else is he involved in Miss Cavanaugh?"

Jordan couldn't hide her confusion. "What do you mean?"

"It's a nice set up he's got here. It looks like business is booming enough for him to afford extra help. Or is it that he's got some outside concerns that take him away from his duties? Tell me Miss Cavanaugh, does your Dr. Macy have anything to do with those six men dying yesterday?"

Woody knew he stuck a nerve by the fire that came out of her eyes. Either she didn't have a clue, or she was the best actress outside of the beautiful Laura Keen, whom he saw on stage before he left Washington. Miss Keen herself recognized a murderer when she pointed out John Wilkes Booth, calling him an assassin. Maybe Miss Jordan Cavanaugh would have similar insight.

"You do know who could be responsible for these deaths?"

There was pause before Jordan answered. She also couldn't look him in the eye. "...No."

This time he did chuckle. Lying wasn't one of Miss Cavanaugh's long suits.

"What about Lord Townsend? What can you tell me about him..."

"I'm afraid I don't have time for your inane questions, Marshal Hoyt. Our business here is done. Now if you'll excuse me..." This time she did brush past him.

Woody followed her into the field between the telegraph office and the stable. Miss Cavanaugh bore more scrutiny then just passing fancy. He couldn't help but think that she would somehow lead him to whomever was responsible. But first he needed to win her trust.

"I'm afraid we still have some unfinished business Miss Cavanaugh. We need to talk about what happened last night."

"A gentleman wouldn't bring that up."

"I never claimed to be one. About that gold piece..."

Jordan stopped cold. How could she forget about _that_? When she went to change out of her clothes the night before her modification doubled when the shiny coin fell on the floor next to her bed. Half the day it burned a hole in her pocket while she thought of a way to return it with out having to face her assailant. The other half she worried it between her thumb and forefinger trying to forget the feel of his warm lips against her chapped hand.

"Here, " she said fishing it out of her pocket. "I'm sorry I took so long to return it...Honest... I didn't know where to take..." She wasn't about to humiliate herself worse by taking it to the Simmons place.

He stopped her holding his hands up in front of him in surrender. "Don't be. I wanted to tell you to keep it."

"I can't!" she hissed in outrage, pressing it in his palm. "I'm not that kind of woman!"

His chuckle was quick and warm. It felt good. He hadn't laughed in a long time. "I know. Believe me, you're father was very clear on that point. Let's call it penitence, Miss Cavanaugh. Maybe next time I'll remember how to treat a lady..."

Jordan snorted. Her heart was still pounding from him attacking her in the alley. She swung open the gate to the coral and whistled for her horse.

"I want to apologize again."

"Accepted." she said curtly.

Woody saw a chance to use this moment to even further his investigation. "It's dangerous this time of night. Let me escort you home." He would take her home and get his take on her father's claim. The guns needed a safe house. What better then a small spread in the middle of nowhere?

_Over my dead body_... Jordan may only give Rev. Stiles' sermons half an ear...but the half she did listen to, she believed. It was dangerous alright. There was no way she was going to ride out on the range with the devil himself. "I can take care of myself Marshal Hoyt."

Woody cleared his throat. She did get the jump on him...twice. "I'm well aware of that fact but I'm trying to prove I do have some manners." The look in his eye said he wasn't taking no for an answer. "And as a gentleman, I must insist."

"You just claimed you weren't one." Jordan forgot about her horse and slammed the gate only to march through the very alley he had just finished warning her about. "In that case, I'm staying in town." She didn't have to turn around to know he was right behind her. "I'm going to stay with my friend Miss Lebowski."

This wouldn't be the first time Jordan imposed on Lily in the middle of the night. With all the strange goings-ons around town Max wasn't comfortable with Jordan riding home alone at dark. The schoolmarm offered to let Jordan stay with her in her rooms above Walcott's on those nights. . Jordan liked being in her own bed at night and rarely called in the favor. If she did it was because she was just too tired to make the trip...or she knew Garret would need her before morning.

Tonight was different. Jordan's nerves were stretched tighter than the silk-covered corset she had to wear under her good dress. She probably could ride all the way to the border before she felt sleepy.

"I haven't had the pleasure yet," Woody said from behind her. Jordan stopped so quick Woody had to jump off the sidewalk as to not run into her.

"She may be juggling a handful of beaus at the time...Lily's not one of _your_ kind of woman either." she said sharply.

"I'd never meant to insinuate..." _Beaus? I thought Malden said there was just the telegraph operator. The little schoolmarm sounds sociable. Maybe one of her "beaus" told her something... _

"Yeah right..." Jordan muttered mounting the first step on the flight that led up the second floor side entrance to the mercantile.

"Miss Cavanaugh?"

_Won't he leave me alone! _Jordan turned around and found herself eye level with the new marshal. His eyes seemed bluer in the pale moonlight. She was overcome with that feeling that she was looking at the face of a fallen angel. Washed and shaved, Woodrow Hoyt was easily the prettiest thing she had ever laid eyes on. He smiled and her heart did a flip. He reached for her damp palm and placed the twenty dollar piece back in it. The metal was warm from his hand.

"Good night ma'am," he said tipping his hat and once again melting away in the shadows.

Jordan cursed herself for standing there looking like a fish out of water. As gracefully as she could, she marched up the stairs and knocked on the door. She didn't doubt he was still standing there, somewhere in the shadows, watching her.

"Lils, it's me..."she said trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

"Jordan?"

Jordan heard the lock on bolt and waited for the door to open. Lily opened it just enough for Jordan to squeeze in. Jordan didn't say anything back simply walked over the window that looked out over the main street. The street was deserted. She worried the coin in her fingers.

"Jordan. What's going on?"

"Nothing," Jordan chuckled nervously. "Just paranoid I guess. Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course," Lily smiled. "You're always welcome."

Lily rushed to her trunk and pulled out a night gown for Jordan to wear. "Here, do you want something to drink? I still have some tea...it's cold but I can heat it up..."

There was something about Lily's gracious fidgeting that made Jordan relax and feel safe. She let the curtain drop and slipped the coin in her shirt pocket "No, thank you...but you can tell me about your day..." she said as she began to take her clothes off to get ready for bed.

"Mrs. Frankin kept the oldest out of school today. I guess she needs some help with this one, but the other two older girls were there. I understand Mr. Frankin is on cloud nine now that he finally has a son..."

Jordan smirked thinking about the seven Frankin girls. The Frankin's had one child for every year the couple had been married. "Now maybe he'll leave poor Mrs. Franklin alone," she quipped pulling the borrowed nightgown over her head.

It took Lily a second to process Jordan's innuendo. Her face blushed as bright as the locks hair that she had wrapped tightly in rags around her head. "Jordan!" she gasped...before she started giggling. "Maybe so..."

"Speaking of randy men," Lily smiled coyly. "I understand you made quite an impression on the new marshal last night."

It was Jordan's turn to blush. "What actually did you hear?"

"I heard the marshal made indecent advances at you," Lily leered.

Jordan laughed. "You sound like you're talking about one of those dim-witted penny-dreadfuls again."

Lily's lips twitched. It wasn't a secret to Jordan that Lily enjoyed reading the dime novels Nigel habitually ordered from Walcott's...on the sly of course.

"Come on. You've read some too..."Lily teased.

_Only the racier ones,_ Jordan had to admit to herself. "I put him in his place," she smiled thinking with some satisfaction of the faint bruise she noticed on his chin while standing on the stairs. The tender spot on her knee told made her doubt he'd have much to do with Mrs. Simmons that night either. "W...Who told you?"

"Mahesh." Lily was one of just a handful of people in town that used Bug's given name and the pronunciation rolled off her tongue flawlessly.

Jordan nodded. How could she think word wouldn't get around?

"So..." Lily climbed into bed and made room for Jordan. "Tell me about him. Is he good looking?"

Jordan shivered as she turned down the lamp pulled the blankets up over them. "I guess...if you like that sort of thing."

"Hmmm...better than I thought..." Lily hummed in the darkness. "The Fourth of July celebration is next Sunday. There's going to be a box lunch auction after church and dance later on that night...You don't suppose he'll be there do you?"

Jordan turned her head and looked at her friend's profile. Of course she knew about the picnic and the dance...and everything else. The town's been planning it since the snow started to melt...and if that wasn't enough it seemed like Lily mentioned it in every breath.

"I don't know. Marshal Hoyt's indecent advances didn't include a look at his social calendar."

"I hope so..." Lily said not biting on the insult. "You know Jordan, maybe you should get ready with me that day. Mahesh has already promised me I can have the big, new copper tub he had shipped in from Chicago last month. He's ordered in some French milled soap from New Orleans that's supposed to smell like roses..."

"You need to just marry that man..." Jordan snorted.

"And give up everyone else? I'm having too much fun. You ought to think about sprucing up a little more Jordan. You could be having fun too. You're beautiful but nobody can see it through those hand-me-downs you wear. And those hands..." Lily held up her own, which were covered with light cotton gloves. "A little Dr. Houghton's miracle lanolin cream every night and you'll have hands as soft as a baby's. I hear he's staying over at Mrs. Simmon's place..."

The segway in the middle of Lily's patented I-can't-believe-your-father-made-you-wear-long-john's-as-a-kid lecture was far from subtle. Jordan rolled over presenting Lily with her back and hoping she'd take the hint and go to sleep. "It _is _the boarding house..."

"Aren't you the least bit...curious? I mean he's _obviously _attracted to you and yet he's saying with her."

Jordan punched her pillow trying to find a more comfortable spot. Lily wasn't fooled. Jordan was dazzled, flustered and frustrated. Something she rarely was when it came to the subject of men.

"He can't very well sleep in the stable can he?" Jordan replied irritably.

Lily couldn't help one last dig. Jordan teased her about her "men" more often then not. "True..but still...I'm sure Mrs. Simmons is going to look nice for the dance..."

"Mrs. Simmons looks nice while she's hanging her laundry. Go to sleep Lily."

"I can't wait to meet this one..."


	7. Getting Closer

**Chapter Seven**

**Getting Closer**

Woody rolled over on his back and stretched, blinking against the bright Texas sun shining in through his window and wincing at the bruises that his run in with Jordan had given him. _The woman could more than take care of herself on a battlefield_, he thought as he grunted against his aches and pains, _but I'm still __not so sure about her wandering out alone on the Texas frontier…_ He stood and made his way to the mirror that hung above the small dresser in his room to shave and get ready to face the day.

Glancing down he made mental notes of Jordan's handiwork from last night. There was a bruise on his instep…and a red mark still lingered in his palm where she bit him. And the area where she had kneed him was still-ever-so-tender. Tender to the point he had to wake Lu last night when he got back to his room and tell her there was no need for her to warm his bed any longer…his excuse was that he was too tired. The reality was that he couldn't have performed if he had wanted to.

And Woody guessed the truth from that was if even he could have, he wouldn't have wanted to. Not with Lu…as nice as she was. Unless the woman in his bed had chestnut hair, whiskey-colored eyes, and a fiery temperament, he really wasn't interested.

A fact that nearly alarmed him after the months he had spent alone prior to coming to Tyler, Texas. Female companionship would have normally been in the top five things on his agenda. But right now, only one female had caught his eye and she was as skittish as a new born colt…

And lovelier than anything he had ever seen. Jordan Cavanaugh, whether she realized it or not, was a woman made to love….with those eyes and those legs he didn't know why some man in that town hadn't tried to snap her up before now.

Of course the lady's "I-don't-take-nothing-off-nobody" attitude could have something to do with it. Most men don't like a woman with a backbone.

But Woody Hoyt wasn't most men. She was a challenge and he loved a challenge….challenges made winning more meaningful…and surrender all the more sweeter.

On top of that, he was sure, that given enough time and gaining her trust, Miss Cavanaugh would either knowingly or unknowingly lead him straight to the smuggling ring. She may not know the truth directly, but she suspected something. And with Max being the former sheriff, he'd bet his horse that she had better hunches than most people.

Which still made her one of the first people he needed to talk to this morning….and made Garret's office one of his first destinations. He donned his Stetson and walked across the street.

* * *

"Can you do me a favor this morning, Jordan?" Garret asked as soon as Jordan walked into his doctor's office.

"Sure thing. What is it?"

"Mrs. Stoneman…"

Jordan's mind raced at the woman's name. She was a young wife…no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age. A girl really, already having to face womanhood on the hard Texas frontier. Jordan was well aware that most girls Lori Stoneman's age were married or engaged…the fact that this young woman was already someone's wife was not anything unusual.

But Lori was pregnant. With twins, as far as Garret could tell. Lori was bigger than most average women were at four months…and Garret swore he could hear two heartbeats with his listening horn.

Whether it was twins or not, was nearly a moot point. It was rough pregnancy made even more difficult by two things. First was the fact that like most frontier women, Lori couldn't stop. Her little family's survival hinged on her being able to cook and sew, raise chickens and a garden. The second was that Lori was very young and very tiny to possibly have two babies.

Throw in the fact, that as far as the baby or babies were concerned, her husband was worse than useless. Despite the fact it was obvious that Ben loved Lori completely, her precarious state of health and the sheer fact that she was going to give birth had rendered the man completely incompetent.

"You want me to go check on her?" Jordan asked.

Garret nodded. "I still think she's overdoing it. See if you can't get her to open up to you ….woman-to-woman…about exactly how she's feeling and how she's handing this pregnancy…the whole situation is making me nervous."

"I don't know, Garret. I may have helped with some births, but I've never given birth myself…I don't know how comfortable Lori Stoneman will be with me, either."

He grinned at Jordan as she got the medical bag together. "She'll be a lot more comfortable talking to you than me…just…try…for the babies' sakes, okay?"

"Sure. I'll be back around lunch…is that alright?"

"That's fine. It should be a quiet morning."

She grabbed the bag off the table and left out the back way. Garret heard her whistling for Camino and a few minutes later she was trotting off.

Garret turned his attention to his journals he was still getting caught up on after last night's escapade of the farmer and the Texas longhorn. Deep in thought, the sudden knock at his door startled him. "Come in…." he called out.

And nearly groaned when the door opened and the new marshal's form filled the doorway. He had heard from Max, Nigel …and Jordan the details of this man's attitude, and had no desire to have a run in with him this morning. Plus the fact that Jordan had revealed to him that this new lawman left her feeling uneasy made Garret less than eager for an encounter with him. "Can I help you, Marshal?"

Woody sheepishly grinned and entered the office, his left hand wrapped in a bloody rag. "I think you can, doc. I seemed to have gashed my hand pretty bad…"

"Okay, come over here, Marshal and let me have a look…" Garret motioned for Woody to come over and sit down in front of him. Gingerly, he began to unwind the old towel wrapped around Woody's hand. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked.

"I was in the stables taking care of my horse, when something spooked him. He reared and threw me against the wall, and I caught my hand on a nail."

Garret carefully examined Woody's hand. "It's not too bad. Come over here, let's get it cleaned up, and see if you need suturing." Garret led him to an exam area across the hall. He poured clean, warm water in a basin and begin to rinse the wound.

Woody watched him carefully, noting the deliberate, measured movements…the sure signs of a good battlefield surgeon…someone that didn't get upset easily and could see his way clearly through the worse situations. The office was clean and well-ordered. Small and nothing out of the ordinary. If Garret was involved in a gun smuggling ring, obviously the holding place wasn't his doctor's office.

But one thing was oddly out of place. No Miss Cavanaugh. Woody wondered if she had over slept. "Where's your assistant, Miss Cavanaugh?" he finally asked, his curiosity finally getting the best of him.

"Jordan? She's out on a field call. Mrs. Stoneman is in the family way and it's not an easy situation…."

Woody nodded. Most frontier pregnancies and births weren't easy. The land was littered with tiny graves next to the graves of the women that had died giving birth. If he ever had a family of his own, his wife would have the best medical attention he could afford.

And some of what he couldn't, if he could arrange it.

"Does she do a lot of that?" he asked, watching Garret as he continued to clean the wound and assess it. Woody prayed he didn't need stitches. He hated needles and had had more than his fair share of the sharp end of one during the war.

"She seems to handle the women better than I do…they'll talk to her. And a typical birth she can do as well as I can. I'm training her to take more on…"

"That's what Sheriff Malden told me."

Garret hid a grimace. There was no love lost between him and the outgoing sheriff. "Jordan's good….very good….and she's going to make a damn fine doctor. She performed better on the battlefield than a lot of the men doctors I know did. She never lost her cool, never got overwhelmed, and took care of each soldier as if that one was her only charge. She's got more compassion in her little finger than most people do in their entire body."

Woody was surprised at the doctor's frank admission. It was obvious that he thought a lot of Jordan, but from the tone of voice, Woody was becoming fairly sure it was a platonic relationship between the two…nearly father and daughter…as if perhaps Jordan was replacing the daughter Garret had left back East after the war.

He was even a little more shocked about the part of Jordan being compassionate. He knew the woman was passionate yes…about her job, her friends…her patients, even. If any compassion was there for him, she obviously hid it under a tough exterior.

Woody's silence as he contemplated his thoughts prompted Garret to continue. Somehow he thought it was important that his new lawman in their community understand Jordan and not think her odd like Malden did. "She is, you know. Very compassionate. And loving. But Jordan has learned to hide it well…first, you know she was a Civil War nurse on the battlefield. She had to learn to be tough to put up with me…and to simply survive the medical field. That's an area not real open or friendly to women. But it is an occupation Jordan feels called to and she is very, very gifted in.

"Unfortunately, because she has chosen a career over a more traditional woman's role, she doesn't feel like she'll ever have time for a husband or family…she thinks those are out of the picture for her….and in this day and time that's an odd thing for a woman. But she feels if she becomes a traditional wife, she won't be taken seriously as a doctor. So she has always kind of run the boys off with her tough exterior.

_Or at least she tries to run them off…It may have worked for other men, but all it's done for me is intrigue me…_Woody thought.

"Okay, Marshal…it looks like this might need just a stitch or two here…It won't hurt but a minute."

Woody winced and looked away. Between Jordan and that nail, so far the town of Tyler hadn't been kind to him. "Sure…whatever you say…you're the doctor."

"Plus, she kind of feels that any relationship she has with a man might jeopardize her father. With her mother being dead, Jordan kind of takes care of her dad…a lot of husbands may have a hard time with that," Garret continued, never missing a beat of his conversation or the suturing on Woody's hand.

_And I'd just be glad to have a father to take care of…_ Woody thought as he waited for Garret to tie off the thread and dress his wound. Like him, Woody's father had been a lawman…and had been killed in a shoot out, leaving sixteen year-old Woody and his younger brother Cal completely alone. Their mother had died of consumption when the boys were smaller.

"And there you go Marshal…good as new…or nearly. Come see me or Jordan in a week and one of us can take the stitches out. Meanwhile, keep your hand as clean as possible. You'll be primed and ready for the picnic and dance the following week."

"Please…call me Woody. What dance?" Woody's curiosity was instantly peaked.

Garret grinned. "You obviously haven't heard yet. Not this Sunday, but the following, there'll be a boxed lunch auction to raise money for buy a bell for the church tower….and then a dance later on in the evening. You'll be good as new to go…"

Woody hopped up off the table and pressed a bill in the doctor's hand. "Thanks doc…I appreciate it….taking care of this and the information …" Woody put his Stetson back on and headed for the door. He may not have found out a lot of information about gun smuggling, but he had about Miss Cavanaugh…he had a clearer picture into just what made her tick … and while he didn't know everything, he was getting closer.

And this boxed lunch dance thing may be just what he needed to take advantage of to find out the rest.


	8. Adventures in Bug's Bath House

**Chapter Eight**

**Adventures in Bug's Bath House**

Jordan looked at the dress she had laid out on Lily's bed with a critical eye. She had finally succumbed to her best friend's pleading and begging and agreed to not only go to the boxed lunch auction, but also the dance.

The truth was, it wasn't a hard sell. Jordan loved to dance. During the time she had lived with her grandmother in Boston, she had not only learned to dance, but also learned to love it. During the spring, it had been nothing unusual for her to attend a dance every weekend. Her grandmother had been so pleased that she had Jordan a wardrobe of dance dresses made….one even came all the way from Paris.

Her grandmother had hoped the way Jordan looked in one of those dresses would help her granddaughter snag one of Boston's most eligible bachelors. Jordan sighed. If her grandmother could see her now, she would think she had wasted her money…nowadays old, dark work skirts with durable blouses (often made over from her father's old shirts) or men's denim jeans were her wardrobe de rigor. She had one dark, silk dress that she wore to church…and the only thing she wore a corset with. The rest of the time she wore only a chemise under her clothing. Her grandmother would be shocked.

And Margaret would be horrified to find that most of the dancing dresses she had bought for her granddaughter had ended up as bandages for the Civil War soldiers. But Jordan had reckoned there was little dancing on the battlefield and the dresses would serve a much better purpose binding up someone's son, husband, or father than waiting for her to have a chance to wear them again. So they all were ripped into bandages.

Except one. The one on the bed. The one that came from Paris, France. Jordan could never bear to tear that one up. So she had tucked it away, hoping to have the chance to wear it again to a dance. But the opportunity never really came up. Sure, there had been dances in Tyler since she had returned from Manassas, but she had always opted to either forego the activities or just stay with her dad, or Garret and Nigel.

But the marshal…the new lawman…well…she had seen the way he looked at her…with the flicker of disbelief in those pale, blue eyes. First that she had been a woman at all…and then mistook her for _that_ kind of woman. Normally, she wouldn't have cared what anyone thought, but something about this man made her want to prove to him just _how_ wrong he was.

She eyed the dress on the bed once again with a critical eye. It would more than do…it was a deep lavender, Jordan's favorite color and one that always looked good on her. It was flounced and frilled…not too fru fru, but just enough that it whispered femininity. And with her corset laced just so, it fit her like a second skin, showing off the tops of her breasts and her long neck to their best advantage. Especially if her hair was up.

Which she planned on happening. Right after she and Lily got back from Bug's bath house. Lily had also talked her into using the new copper tub that had come in and Bug had offered some of the French milled soap that smelled like roses. _If you're gonna go all out, Cavanaugh, do it right_, she thought with a smile. She gathered her bath things and shouted to Lily in the next room, "Are you ready to go, Lils?"

Lily appeared in the doorway. "Just a little eager aren't we Jordan?" she grinned. "Is that your dress….wow….Marshal Hoyt will just die when he sees you in it."

Jordan snorted. "Marshal Hoyt can go to…"

"Jordan!" Lily said, pretending to be shocked. Then she chuckled. "My….the new law man has hit a nerve with you…"

"Lily…." Jordan warned.

"Okay, okay…I have my things, let's get going. We can bathe there and then come back up here to get ready. Are you spending the night with me?"

"I don't know. I guess it depends on what Dad does…if he stays in town, I will too." Max had become increasingly uneasy about Jordan staying on the claim by herself with still more dead bodies showing up in the desert. Dead bodies with bullet holes in their heads. And if Max was nervous, generally there was good reason for Jordan to be cautious. She opened the door and she and Lily headed down the stairs and over to Bug's.

* * *

Woody sighed and sank down into the warm water in Bug's bath house. One thing he would have to give Tyler, Texas, was that it had the best bath house he had the opportunity of patronizing since his assignment in New Orleans. Bug kept the establishment spotless…and offered many amenities not seen out of New Orleans. Woody leaned back in the tub and lit up his cigar. If he had a shot of whiskey, this would be the absolute perfect way to spend the afternoon. Warm water, smooth whiskey, and a good cigar. He flicked the ashes into the container Bug had supplied. With a little luck, he may even get in a good nap before he had to return to his room at Mrs. Simmons' Boarding House and get dressed for the dance.

He had just closed his eyes and was nearly in that place of unconsciousness…not quite asleep but not fully awake, when he could have sworn he heard female voices. Not that that was anything unusual. Bug had a separate bathing room for the females and he kept it locked. The women went in, he locked the door behind them, and then they knocked when they were ready to leave. It protected their privacy…but it gave the men on the other side of the wall something to dream about, anyway, Woody imagined….well, he guess that depended on who was on the other side of the wall, too.

But he knew _that_ voice. He had heard her voice enough to recognize it…but never in that tenor. When he heard it, it had been all business…but now it was teasing…laughing….relaxed. She sounded happy.

For a fleeting moment, Woody would have given anything to see her face….relaxed, happy…content. He cleared his throat and leaned closer to the wall, hoping to hear more of the conversation…evidently Jordan was in there with her friend Lily…and they were discussing how they were going to wear their hair.

"Down, Lily…your hair should definitely be down…that red hair under the stars and the lamplight…I don't know who'll be fighting to dance with you first….Mahesh, Matt, or that new lawyer guy that kept making goo goo eyes at you during Sunday School."

"Jeffrey?"

"Yeah, Jeffrey. Don't play innocent with me….you were watching him, too…."

Woody smiled as he heard Jordan laugh. It seemed odd to him to hear her talk about such….girlish things…female conversation. He guessed it was because with her job, she was nearly surrounded by men. She rarely had a chance for such talk. _Damn…I wish I could see her…_

"So how are you going to wear your hair, Jo?"

_Jo?_

"Up, I think…"

"Ohhhh….that'll be perfect. with that dress….and its neckline…the way you pile all those curls on your head and leave the little wisps hanging down the back of your neck….you'll be tempting that new marshal all night."

_Me?_

Woody shifted uncomfortably in his tub…thoughts of whiskey long forgotten and his cigar was propped against the rim the container Bug left….quickly burning into ashes.

"I'm not trying to tempt Marshal Hoyt…."

Woody smiled at the indignant tone in her voice.

"Yeah…right. And I've seen the way he looks at you when he sees you crossing the street…or across the aisle during Preacher Stiles' sermon this morning…" Lily giggled.

"You, my friend, are imagining things. For some reason, the marshal has a personal vendetta against me. He seems to think I know something about these bodies that keep showing up in the desert…"

Lily laughed outright then. "And you can't see through that cockamamie bull story?"

"I don't think he's kidding, Lils. You haven't seen him when…." Jordan broke off then.

"When?" Lily asked.

"When he questions me," Jordan's voice lowered. "He means business…."

Lily was silent for a moment. "Are you scared of him, Jordan?"

Jordan suppressed a shiver. "No….of course not," she said with more bravado than she felt.

"Good…I didn't think so….because I think when he looks at you, all he sees is a woman he is very intrigued with."

Jordan snorted. "Me? Intriguing?"

"And one that is very beautiful….when she lets herself be…"

_I'd agree with that…_ Woody shifted in his tub again. The water was getting cold….and even if the conversation in the next room had kicked his curiosity into high gear, goose bumps had begun their trail along his body. He turned to hoist himself out when he noticed there was a crack in the wall…not a very big one, but one he could use to get a tempting glimpse of the women in the next room.

He shouldn't, you know. Look through that crack. He had arrested men for doing that. And what if the woman he saw wasn't Jordan? He wouldn't be able to look Bug or Matt in the eyes again. Woody swallowed hard. He'd take that chance.

Stealthily, he moved his eye to the crack, holding his breath and hoping for the best…and was rewarded beyond his dreams. Jordan was directly in front of him…and although her back was to him, he had the sheer delight of watching her bathe both of those hopelessly long legs….legs that he now knew were meant to wrap around a man's waist…his waist. He swallowed hard.

And despite his chilly skin, broke out in a sweat when she stood up to dry off. Dear God, her skin was like porcelain... and that chestnut hair hung nearly to her waist…and her sweet ass…

There was no doubt about what he was going to do tonight…he was going to dance every dance he could with Miss Cavanaugh…Meanwhile, he was going to have to try to remember what she looked like with her clothes on.

"Marshal Hoyt, are you all right?" a voice called from the other side of the door. "You've been in there a long time…"

"Ah..sure…." Woody said, "ahh..ah…must have fallen asleep. Sorry Bug." He made a grab for his hat to cover the part of him that was still suffering from the effects of seeing a very bare and very wet Jordan Cavanaugh.

_Marshal Hoyt_….Jordan drew a shocked breath in. Then relaxed when she realized that sturdy two by fours and a wall of inch-thick wooden planks were between them…._Despite whatever he can do…even Marshal Hoyt can't see through walls…._


	9. On the Right Path

**Chapter Nine**

**On the Right Path**

The late afternoon sun hung like a wax ball in the sky, slowly dipping toward the horizon, not quite ready to set. The stretch of ground between the church and the school yard was barely discernible from the same property that just a short six hours before Pastor Stiles was winding up a long winded speech on the gratification of selfless donation. Woody smiled as the robust little man bussed from table to table making sure everything was ready for the evening's festivities. Off to the side, a hastily constructed dance floor was being ringed by multi-colored Chinese lanterns that Mrs. Walcott and Dr. Macy were busy arguing on the proper place to hang. Woody had no doubts that come nightfall the scene would be as enchanting as the indomitable Mrs. Walcott could possibly make it.

Nigel stood guard over a table heaving with the strain of dozens of baskets and boxes. Woody noticed Nigel and Bug with their heads locked conspiringly together as Nigel pointed out a big wicker basket with yellow ribbons and white flowers decorating it. The silver threads of Nigel's brocade waistcoat...sparkled as he laughed at something Bug said. Despite being a dandy Woody couldn't help but like him.

For his first few days in town Woody considered Nigel his prime suspect in the smuggling case. It didn't take long for him to take Nigel off his short-list. Outside of being a strange bird, the Englishman proved to be very cooperative. He didn't even bat an eye when Woody requested a tour of his ranch. The two day trip didn't give Woody anymore insight on the man. Even so, Woody was totally convinced Nigel wasn't involved and even went so far as to ask the Englishman for his help.

On the ride back into town Woody asked him everything he knew about the area and he wasn't disappointed. Nigel proved to be a fount of knowledge. He verified that there was something going on other than some mysterious deaths. On a lark Nigel batted around the name of Carl Jeffers. He had been both Max and Malden's deputy for a short time before he left to try his luck in the gold mines of Sutter's Mill. According to Nigel it wasn't a big surprise. Jeffers was always looking for a quick buck. Nigel figured he had disappeared into those hills of gold like so many men, never to bother with the dust and cattle of Texas again. Only Nigel could have sworn he saw him, few weeks before Woody arrived, when he escorted Mrs. Walcott and her lawyer to the capital. Nigel went on to say it was hard to mistake a man like Jeffers. After a childhood bout with yellow fever, he looked like he was at death's door...a veritable skeleton.

Woody brushed away his reflections and reminded himself he was off duty.

This wasn't Woody's first box meal auction. Not in the least. Growing up such fundraisers was very common, but that was a lifetime and a half a country ago. He was sure the concept was still the same here in Texas by the sight of the brightly decorated baskets. For days, the town's women cooked a prepared these special meals, packaged them up in attractive packages to be sold to the highest bidder. The winner not only had an excellent meal...but ate it in the charming company of the cook. Each box was outlandishly decorated hoping to stand out from the offering next to it. It was suppose to be a secret whose box lunch a gent would be bidding on. It wasn't unheard of the lady in question to make sure her man knew just what meal he should have any business bidding on. Some women were more coy about the clues...some were more direct. He'd seen notes slapped on top of baskets that would spell out woman's husband's name with a not so gentle hint that they'd better pony up the cash or sleep outside that night.

Woody was sure Nigel knew which basket belonged to which lady and briefly wondered if he could be bribed.

He approached the table just as Nigel pointed out the same brightly beribboned basket to Matt Seeley. By Nigel's sly smile Woody could smell a lively bidding war in the makings.

"Townsend..." Woody said holding his hand out. The smells of savory meats and homemade pastries that wafted up from the bounty were enough make Woody's mouth water.

"Marshal," Nigel drawled. "I hope you're hungry. We have some delightful selections here I'm sure."

Woody motioned to the popular yellow beribboned basket and Nigel shook his head. "It one may end up out of your price range..."

Woody chuckled and picked up a pink frilly basket at the front of the table. There was the unmistakably smell of gingerbread inside. Nigel carefully took it out of his hands and put it back in its spot. "No fair peeking Marshal. The dinner is supposed to be as big of a surprise as the lady."

"Any suggestions?"

Nigel's smile broadened. He looked over his shoulder before he picked out a plain brown paper bag from the back of the table. The only decoration it had was a handful of red colored Indian paintbrush that had obviously been tied to the fold at the last minute. "A certain bar keep asked me to bid for it since he's open tonight...but with all these baskets to choose from I may have a hard time keeping them straight..."

Woody slapped his new friend on the back and melted back into the growing crowd. He may consider himself off duty but it didn't hurt to keep his eyes open. Over the last few weeks he had met and talked to most of the people he saw. What he found was a hard working community...that were delighted to have someone in town that seemed to be concerned about the rash of unsolved murders. It filled his heart with something odd to have people call out his name in greeting and warm his palm with a handshake. He could see why people called this place home.

He stood back and watched Sheriff Malden scan the crowd himself. Like Woody, he was a head taller then most of the men there. It was easy to keep an eye on him and Woody didn't trust the sheriff as far as he could see him. For the last few days Woody had been watching the man closer. Two weeks of asking about the sheriff's pending retirement hadn't shed any light on what he planned for his life after the badge. Tom Malden played his cards close to his vest but there were rumors of a windfall of some sort. It took money to retire. He had to have some somewhere. There were no signs of arms at the jailhouse or his small place just outside of town. He was debating on making another ride past there in the morning when Pastor Stiles yelled for everyone's attention.

* * *

Jordan brushed her hand over Lily's handy work and felt like she had stepped back in time. When was the last time she had her hair dressed like this?

"Don't," Lily scolded. "I'm not done yet." Jordan sat still as Lily pinned a handful of spicily scented four-o-clock blossoms in the tumble of curls that fell from the back of her head. "There" she smiled. "Perfect."

Jordan stood up and looked at herself in the full length mirror that stood in the corner of Walcott's store. Jordan turned left and right, much like she did the first time she tried on the lavender silk dress. The gown was haute couture a half a dozen years ago. Now it probably would get laughed out of the ballrooms she once worn it at. It still fit her perfectly, but the color accented the swan like neck and broad shoulders that weren't as milky-white as they once were. Her hair was longer and not as formally coiled as she used to wear it. Jordan could still see the same girl that once wore this dress. Jordan Cavanaugh, the young granddaughter of one of Boston's Grand Dames, was there but the face reflected back had been though so much. There was no mistaking the maturity that was now there. Jordan had to smile. She liked what she saw.

Lily smiled at Jordan's reflection. "You're going to cause quite a stir."

Jordan laughed trying to pull up the neckline of her dress...to no avail. "I don't want to cause a stir. I just want him to see I'm not... I'm just looking like this to prove a point..."

Lily swung away to grab her shawl. "I'm sure Marshal Hoyt will get a definite _point_," she teased. "Along with half the other men in town."

"LILY!" Jordan's outrage mellowed into laughter as they stumbled, arm and arm, out onto the sidewalk. They were so wrapped up in the sheer enjoyment of each other's company on an extraordinary day that they didn't notice a pair of strangers tying up their rides out side of the saloon.

Kevin Cahill looked over his partner's shoulder. "Blessed Mother Mary, isn't that the Cavanaugh girl?" he whispered in his thick Celtic accent.

The emancipated man next to him turned slightly and spit out a trail of tobacco juice. With a jaundice eye, he watched Jordan and Lily rushed their way past the storefronts toward the gathering in the church yard.

"She's the spitting image of her mother..." Kevin continued.

"So she is," Carl smiled. "...so she is..."

* * *

Woody decided that when Rev. Stiles wasn't ranting about the sins of the world his distinctive voice was actually quite entertaining to listen to. Add Nigel's witty side dialogue and the auction was progressing along quite successfully.

"Going once...going twice...SOLD! To Mr. Vijay for $10! "

Woody, along with everyone else that had been getting caught up in the last feverish bidding war, clapped as a beaming Bug fetched his yellow beribboned dinner from Nigel's out stretched fingers. Dejected but not at all ready to surrender, Matt and Jeffery slipped back into the crowd conceding that they'd end up eating a plate at the table Lois had set up to feed the gentlemen that were out bid.

Lily was blushing as deeply as the rose color of the dress she was wearing. She waited patiently for Bug to hand the good reverend the hefty sum. Seeing the pretty school teacher, Woody scrutinized the crowd once more looking for Jordan. He knew she was there. He had heard her talk about it. Woody saw blondes and brunettes and a handful of redheads. But no long-locked chestnut-colored crowns. He was beginning to think that maybe she changed her mind when he saw her.

He saw her step from behind the bandstand to congratulate Bug. If he hadn't spent a good portion of the morning church service studying the gentle curve of her jaw line he would have had to look twice to realize it was the same woman he once confused with a dust-plain hooker.

There was only one word that came to his mind to describe her: Stunning. The feminine cut of her dress showed delicate curves he would have never guessed existed...unless he hadn't of just seen them with his very own eyes. Her hair, the same hair that he had dreamt about running his fingers through, was piled in loose curls that looked like they threaten to tumble down her back if he did just that.

Woody would have been content to just stand there and daydream if it weren't for the sharp whistle that came from the display table. He looked over at Nigel who was standing there with a bemused look on his face.

"Lord Townsend," Rev. Stiles said irritably. "There was no reason for such an outburst. Now where was I...? Yes. I have a starting bid of fifty cents from Mr. McCoy..."

Woody raised his hand when he saw the bidding had opened on Jordan's brown bag. "One dollar!"

"Do I hear one fifty..." the good reverend inquired.

"One fifty!" Woody yelled out.

"Marshal, do you realize you just out bid yourself," Stiles asked. There were a few chuckles as Woody ran his finger around the tight neck of his good shirt. "I do admit it smells like some mighty fine chicken in here...so I'll take the bid. Do I hear two?"

The crowd was silent.

"Going once...going twice..."

"Five dollars!" Jordan's voice started another little wave of chuckles...only there were a few murmurs as well.

Jordan swallowed hard. It was one thing to get all dressed up and prove you could look like a lady. It was another to actually put up with it.

From the moment she and Lily stepped foot in the church yard Jordan fielded a bounty of comments and looks. When one of the solders from the fort asked her for a dance or two smelling like a wet horse Jordan suggested that he go find a more suitable partner in the stables. It was that moment Jordan realized she couldn't go back. She was like a fish out of water trying to remember her life as a young lady dancing the night away in satins and silks. She was a country doctor who was more comfortable in her serviceable dark skirts and doing her job. Realizing her mistake, she hid behind the bandstand, hoping to slip away the second she could shake Lily. Unfortunately she forgot about her bloody picnic bag until Nigel's whistle. All she wanted to do was get it back and go hide in her father's office and eat fried chicken and sugar cookies until she was sick. Alone.

"Miss Cavanaugh, you participation in this fundraiser has already been noted with your generous donation of a fine meal," Rev. Stiles chastised. "There is no need for you to bid also."

"Are you saying my money's not good enough Reverend?" Jordan's fists were lost in the flounce of silk that covered her hips. Not that Woody and every other red-blooded man in sight noticed. The bow of her arms made her breasts lift precariously over the neckline of her gown. Woody bit back a moan.

Stiles harrumphed and searched for an excuse. "It's not that my child...it's just not very...seemly for a young lady to..."

"Let her bid Parson," Nigel said looking at his nails. "It's all for the church fund after all..."

"V...Very well. Five dollars."

"Ten!" Woody had worked his way through the crowd so that he was close enough to smell the flower that hung in back of her ear. "I intend to win," he whispered for her ears only.

"Twenty!" Jordan raised her hand in a counter bid. The murmur in the crowd suddenly buzzed louder that the laughter. "After all it's YOUR money," Jordan smirked back.

"...Going once..."

Woody watched with amusement as Jordan fished his twenty dollar gold piece out of the little jet bag she had tied around her gloved wrist.

"Fifty!"

The only smile that could be seen after Woody's last bid was Nigel's. The Englishman took Rev. Stiles momentary speechlessness as his sign to step in

"...going-once-twice-sold. Congratulations Marshal, I think you just bought the most expensive dinner this side of San Francisco. Do enjoy it. The fine pastor here is obviously overwhelmed by your generosity and will probably have your name engraved on the bell."

Nigel held out his hand as Woody counted out the bills which left a serious dent in his money clip. He then dropped the bag in Woody's numb hand and held up the next basket to be bid on.

Before they could blink to crowd turned its attention to the next bid leaving Jordan and Woody standing there with the oil soaked brown paper between them.

"The pastor's right. It smells like chicken."

"Fresh this morning..." Jordan added rocking on her feet looking like she wanted to be any place other than where she was.

"I can't wait to try it...shall we?" Woody held out his arm. Jordan just stared at it. "I promise...since I'm in the company of a beautiful lady I can pretend to be a gentleman...please...I just spend a month's pay on this dinner don't make me look like a fool..."

"It's too late for that," Jordan suggested and reluctantly linked her arm with his. Jordan couldn't help but draw in her inner Bostonian debutante and stick her nose haughtily in the air as they walked past the stinky cavalryman and his compatriots.

* * *

The sun was mellowing to a burnt orange color as they found a spot on the schoolhouse porch. Lily and Bug were inside the open door eating at her desk. Lily asked if they would like to join them. Much to Bug's relief Woody said no. "The sunset is too pretty to waste."

To Jordan's amazement Woody was not only a gentleman for dinner, but entertaining as well. She was taken back when he spread his handkerchief over the floorboards for her to sit on and delighted when he told her chicken and biscuits were worth every penny he spent. Time slipped past them. Lily and Bug left the school house as the first strains of music drifted up from the bandstand.

As they lingered over the last sips of lemonade in Mason jars and sugar cookies, Jordan found herself laughing as Woody described his life back on the farm in Wisconsin. Watching him describe some of the lighter points of his childhood, Jordan saw glimpses of the charming boy this hard man must have been. "Why did you ever leave?"

"I wasn't a son." he stated simply. "My brother and I were just the poor relations. When the war started, I went to fight. When it ended...when it ended, I saw there was nothing left for me there. I had to find my own way."

Jordan knew the war changed many people. Before the war she was living in Boston with nothing more demanding that learning needlepoint and going to dances. After the war, all she wanted to do was come home...to Tyler...and be a doctor. "I believe a person's direction in life is not left up to chance. They may lose their way or follow false signs. A person can only be happy when they are on the right path. Mine is being a doctor. I'm glad you found yours, Marshal..."

Woody looked into her eyes and realized he was completely lost. He knew from that moment on, now matter where he went, his life would never be the same again.

There was a deep profound feeling of sadness in that. A woman like Miss Jordan Cavanaugh...No, Dr. Jordan Cavanaugh of Tyler, Texas was so far out of his league he could only dream.

Even though, he needed to touch her just once. He had to take the risk. With darkness of dusk falling around them and the solitude of the empty school house in back of them, Woody leaned in and brushed his lips gently against hers. Her lips were softer than he expected for a woman so prickly. He tilted his head slightly and brushed them again. Jordan's posture stiffened but she didn't back away. He could tell she didn't have much practice in the art of kissing.

Reluctantly, he leaned back, fully expecting her to at least slap him silly if not chew him up and spit him out with that caustic tongue of hers. But she must have left it at home with her men's clothes. Her eyelashes took a long second to flutter open.

"You forget yourself. I should make you apologize for that Marshal Hoyt," she said slightly breathlessly.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I just got caught up...the evening and all. I'm very sorry." Woody stammered.

"I said, _I should_," Jordan said standing up brushing nonexistent crumbs from her skirts. She was halfway back to the party when she heard his laugh. She touched her fingertips to her lips and smiled.

_Yes, she proved her point... _


	10. He Never Claimed to be a Gentleman

**Chapter Ten**

**He Never Claimed to be a Gentleman**

From his seat at the school house, Woody caught the movement of her hand to her mouth. _So she should make me apologize, but she isn't…could be that Miss Cavanaugh enjoyed those kisses as much as I did…._He watched her walk down the slight hill heading toward the dance floor. Getting up himself, he picked up the now empty lunch sack and Mason jars and followed her. She may be inexperienced in the fine art of kissing, but from the graceful way her hips swayed in that dress, he doubted she was inexperienced in the fine art of dancing.

And neither was he. His long strides ate up the ground between them and before anyone else could claim a dance with her, he swung her out onto the dance floor. "You didn't think you were going to get away so easily?" he murmured in her ear when she gasped at his contact.

"Most gentlemen generally _ask_ a lady to dance…not run her down on the floor, Marshal."

"And I've told you before…I'm no gentleman…"

_God, you can say that again, _Jordan thought, getting caught up in his blue eyes as he continued to swing her around in a Texas waltz. But it wasn't long before she realized the Marshal was as good of a dancer as he was a kisser. Not that she had a lot of experience to judge from in that area. Before she had left Tyler for Boston, she was well too young to even think of a beau. And while living with her grandmother in Boston, she was too well chaperoned for any of her suitors to dream of doing anything more than simply holding her hand.

Then after the war…well, after that, she found herself coming home the same way many of the soldiers had. Changed forever. Altered from the young woman she had been. Jordan had seen too much death, too much carnage, too much blood, and too much hurt to ever be that naïve girl again. And her life's purpose had become crystal clear – become a doctor in order to try to end some of the suffering in the world.

In her mind, a husband and a career couldn't exist in the same sentence….much less the same world. She had locked those dreams away, somewhat reluctantly. Occasionally there had been a man that would come through her life that would make her want to take that dream out again and look at it, but never for very long and never very hard.

The last one to do that was a reporter from some San Francisco newspaper – Mr. JD Pollack. But he had only used her to find out information on one of the soldiers she had treated during the war…one that was accused of treason. As soon as Jordan had suspected that, she sent the reporter packing.

She would remain single and celibate…at least from a husband and family. She would be married to her job…her patients would become her family.

And that was what she firmly believed….until this blue-eyed Marshal entered her father's bar and insulted her. Then he turned right around and stole her heart. Made her think twice about that dream. The only problem was, once his assignment was over, Marshal Woody Hoyt would pack up her dream and her heart and ride out of Tyler and into the sunset.

Jordan didn't know if she would ever get her heart back from this man that was proving to be so steadfast in her life – an existence that so often had as many shifting sands as the desert that surrounded Tyler. This man may sometimes look like Lucifer incarnate, especially when he was angry or unshaven, but Jordan knew his heart was as true was hers was breakable.

She just prayed that when it was all over, he wouldn't break hers. Her breath caught at the thought.

"Are you okay, Jordan? You're lookin' at me kind of funny…"

Woody's comment snapped her out of her thoughts. "Yeah….just thinking…"

"About what?"

"That I need to get home soon…." Panic was beginning to set up in the base of her spine and begin its familiar slow, cold crawl up it.

"It's early and the dancing is just starting. Stay for a little while, and then I'll see you home."

* * *

Marshal Hoyt was as good as his word. They stayed for a while. Jordan ended up dancing with Nigel and then Bug…followed by Matt Seeley and that new lawyer, Jeffrey…whom she discovered could not dance, but made up for it by telling very funny jokes. She was mildly surprised when she found Woody at her side again claiming the last three dances as his.

"Are you ready to go home?" he asked when he led her back out on the dance floor again for a Virginia Reel.

"I…well…"

"You had a better time than you thought you would…"

Jordan nodded and swung away from him and into Nigel's arms. Woody watched her go and turned her attention to Lily, who had taken Jordan's place in his arms. It was few more minutes before he found himself back with Jordan. The next dance was another lively reel, finally followed by the Sweetheart Waltz.

The lilting melody played by the fiddler slowed everyone down. Woody was exquisitely conscious of Jordan's curves as his hand stayed at the small of her back…not pulling her close enough to be scandalous, but keeping her as near to him as he could. He looked down into her brown eyes to see them take on a smoky hue…but there was also a slightly puzzled look. She wasn't used to this kind of attention…

And he wanted to make damn sure she got more. He simply smiled back down into her face…hoping that an easy going manner wouldn't spook her and make her want to run away. When the dance ended, he pulled her to his side and put her hand on his arm. "May I still see you home?" he asked, walking with her away from the other dancers.

Jordan hesitated for a moment. Her father had stopped her before the dancing begun and told her he was heading back out to the claim. And that was good ride. To go there and back…it would be a long way.

"If you don't want me to, I understand…" Woody's hand was already on his Stetson, ready to bow out gracefully.

"It's not that," Jordan said in a rush, the tone of her voice caught somewhere between urgency and the fear that she was expecting too much…and would automatically be let down.

"Then what?"

"It's just that my dad …he's on the claim tonight…and that's a long ride."

"I don't mind." Woody walked her to the coral and Jordan whistled for Camino. When the horse came trotting up, Woody helped her into the saddle and whistled for his own horse, Chevelle. "Which direction?" he asked.

"That way," Jordan said, pointing northwest.

They rode in silence for a while. _I can understand why Max doesn't like her riding out this far at night by herself. Even under the best conditions, it's dangerous…if not just a little spooky…_ Woody thought to himself. _And that's tonight under a full moon_. But the ride also gave him the opportunity to survey this end of Tyler…see if per chance, as much as he didn't want to think about it, did Max have a spread that could serve as a holding place for gun smuggling?

It didn't look like it. At least at first glance. Small barn…small coral…medium-sized house. From the outside, Woody would guess it held two or three bedrooms, besides the normal living room and kitchen. Maybe even a dining room. _Pretty large home for a property claim_, Woody thought. But then again, Jordan's mother had died when she was young. Maybe Max and his wife had prepared for a larger family… "Nice place," he commented to Jordan, as he helped her slide down from the side of Camino and stable the horse.

"It is nice…just kind of big for Dad and me…" she replied, keeping up with his stride as he walked her up on the porch.

_She's right…and while the barn may not be big enough…who's to say the house isn't? And what better way to keep on eye on the guns than to keep them right under you?_ Woody thought. Max could have easily hid the guns under the floor boards of the house. But the question was, would Jordan know? And if she did, would she tell? "It's a little far out for you to be riding to every night after work, too," Woody commented, stopping her at the door.

Jordan nodded. "It used to not bother me or Dad…Tyler was such a quiet place….but then all these strangers started showing up….some with bullet holes in their heads…it makes a body uneasy."

"I hope to put yours and everyone else's mind at ease before long…"

Jordan looked up into his blue eyes…searching for a glimpse of something that would let her know about the case. "You know who's been doing the killing?"

Woody shook his head and rubbed his chin with his hand. "I'm not sure…can you shed any light on the subject?" The question was asked easily and quietly.

But Jordan wasn't fooled. She hesitated for just a half a beat longer than Woody was comfortable with. "No…."

He smiled down at her….his dimples catching her breath and making her feel more at ease. "If you hear of anything…or run into anything….will you let me know?"

Jordan nodded again. "Thank you for seeing me home, Marshal."

"My pleasure, Miss Cavanaugh…" He reached for her hand…only to feel her reluctantly give it to him. He raised an eyebrow.

"My hands….are so rough …" she tried to explain…"From washing them so much with lye soap to get the…"

"They're beautiful," Woody said, interrupting her explanation. He brushed his lips over her knuckles. "There's healing in those fingers…I've seen it…" He looked her in the eyes, feeling his heart thump a little harder when hers grew larger. "They're as beautiful as the woman they belong to…" And before he could stop himself, his lips sought hers again…he just had to touch her one more time. He knew what Jordan didn't know…his time here in Tyler could be growing short…and he didn't think he would see her again once he left out on his next assignment.

But this time, it was different. This time, he felt her lips cling to his. And her spine didn't stiffen. She leaned into the kiss. She might be inexperienced, but he'd be damned if she wasn't a fast learner. It wasn't but a moment or two before he reluctantly drew back. "Should I apologize now?" he murmured against her lips.

She shook her head. "Good night, Marshal…" Feeling suddenly shy, Jordan reached behind her for the doorknob.

"Just a minute, Miss Cavanaugh…" Woody stopped her hasty retreat back inside the house. His hand reached out and tangled his fingers in her tousled curls at the back of her head….finding the four o'clocks that Lily had pinned there earlier. Gently he withdrew the spray and tucked it in his front shirt pocket. "Good night…Ma'am." He tipped his hat and turned, walking back out into the darkness. Jordan watched him go…taking a little piece of her heart with him.

* * *

Woody grunted as he swung the saddle up on Chevelle's back After kissing Jordan good night last evening and making sure she had gone in the house and locked the door behind her, he had slowly circled Max's claim, trying to gauge what he could under the light of the full moon. The claim was one of the larger ones in Tyler, encompassing several acres. Part of Woody became glad that Jordan had been shipped to her grandmother's in Boston as the young girl grew older. It would have truly been a solitary and possibly dangerous life for a young woman taking care of her father all the way out here by herself.

From what Woody had gathered from talking to Nigel, Max had married into money when he was back East in Massachusetts. And although Emily's parents had not approved of the union between their privileged daughter and her nearly penniless suitor, they had given Emily some kind of dowry, which Max had used to purchase land out West and begin a new life for the new couple.

That new life had come to a screeching halt when Emily died. So it wasn't the fact that Max owned a large claim that began to raise Woody's suspicions. It was the fact that out of all the people in Tyler, Texas, Max owned the only piece of property that could possibly hide a large cache of guns that were to be smuggled across the Mexican border.

This fact, coupled with the additional information Nigel gave him about Carl Jeffers, added to Woody's suspicions. Carl Jeffers had been Max's deputy…and then Malden's. Could it be that all three men were somehow linked up in this operation? Frankly, Woody could see Malden in it. The current sheriff was evasive, sneaky, and a bit of a bully when it came to some of the town's citizens. Including Jordan as well as Lu.

And while Woody didn't like to think the affable barkeep was involved in a smuggling ring, Max's house and claim were the only areas large enough to account for the number of guns the government was tracking being smuggled across into Mexico and into the hands of the Mexican government…the same government who was bound to pick a fight later when Texas wanted to join the union.

Woody had lain in bed last night and thought long and hard about what his next move needed to be. He knew that right now, he couldn't question Max outright, because if the former sheriff was involved in the crime, the inquiries Woody would need to make would raise the man's suspicions and possibly make him and any of the others involved head for the hills.

No, he needed to go about it another way…and as much as he hated to admit it…that way was Jordan.

That was not going to be easy….especially when he awoke this morning to the taste of her kisses still on his mouth and the feel of her hair against his fingers when he pulled the tiny blossoms out of her hair and put them in his shirt pocket. The fragrance from the nearly crushed flowers filled his room last night and made him dream of her…vivid dreams that had only added to his sleepless state….dreams of her in his arms…in the tub at Bug's bath house….the sweet feel of her body against his. Woody shook his head, pulling himself out of his daydream. He had put the four o'clocks in the drawer of his dresser that held his handkerchiefs, allowing them to dry out so he could keep them. When this assignment was over, that may be all he had left to remember Miss Cavanaugh with – a few fragrant, stray, dried buds and some bittersweet memories.

He tightened the cinch on Chevelle's saddle and slowly began to ride towards Garret's office. He imagined she would be there by now….getting ready to begin her duties as nurse and doctor-in-training. He swallowed hard. This could be the most difficult thing he had ever done as far as his duties as Marshal go…


	11. Babies and Apologies

**Chapter Eleven**

**Babies and Apologies**

The rise and fall of the voices in Garret's closed office let anyone know within listening distance that there was a serious argument going on. Woody had entered the building earlier and asked to speak to Jordan privately. Garret had raised an eyebrow at her, silently asking if that was okay with her. Jordan had responded with a nod and a smile. Garret had offered the solitude of his office, closing the door and going back into the examination part of his building….straightening and cleaning his equipment.

It was then that the tenor of voices caught his attention. Whatever Jordan had anticipated Marshal Hoyt saying, what was actually happening wasn't anywhere near it. Surreptitiously, Garret moved closer to the door to hear what was going on…thinking that Jordan might need him to intervene

"I can't believe you," he heard Jordan's voice rise in disbelief and anger. "You showed me home last night so you could spy on my father."

"No. Not intentionally and not at the beginning. It wasn't until I was out there and saw the house and land that I realized that Max maybe could possibly be caught up with this. He didn't answer any of my questions when I first came here…."

"That's because he has to trust you first. Just because you have a US Marshal's badge pinned to your self-righteous chest," Jordan reached out and flipped the badge up with her index finger, "that doesn't mean he can trust you…"

"And you've been evasive with me about this, too."

"Me? I've told you I don't know anything…and that if I did, I would tell you."

"And you hesitated just a moment too long in answering my questions. You know something, Jordan." Woody's blue eyes turned cold and seemed to bore into her soul. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. The truth was she did have her suspicions. Not about her father…her father would never do something that could endanger the citizens of Tyler…people that had been like family to the both of them….that were family, in reality. But Max owned a bar…and everyone eventually showed up at the Pogue at one time or another for a drink… Max would inevitably engage them in a conversation and after a patron had few drinks, Max was known to be able to get any information out of anyone. Jordan had thought for a while her father may know something.

But her father was a former lawman. Jordan also knew that Max wouldn't open his mouth about any information or suspicions he had until he had confirmed them himself. He wouldn't waste Woody's time chasing down dead end leads. "No. No, I don't. I don't know anything." She clasped her hands nervously in front of her. She was ready for this conversation to end and for Woody to get out of Garret's office.

Instead he moved closer to her…nearly pinning her in a corner. "Yes, you do. Tell me what you know. Or at least what you suspect."

Jordan took a deep breath. "So that's what this is all about…"

Her statement took him off guard. "What's what about?"

"All of this," she motioned between them. "Buying my box lunch for fifty dollars…eating with me last night…charming your way into my heart… the dances…riding with me home…the kisses…" her voice and eyes lowered on the last admission, as her cheeks delicately flushed. The same flush Woody just knew would cover her entire body it he were to…he bit back a groan. "Because it's not going to work," she continued. "Despite what you must know by now is my inexperience with men, I can't be seduced or sweet talked into telling you what I may or may not know. This is my _father_ you're talking about…."

_Shit_, thought Garret on the other side of the door. _What the hell does this Marshal think he's doing to her? And what did he do last night?_ Garret wasn't Jordan's father, but for a minute he was ready to haul Hoyt out of his office and beat his ass. Or at least try to. All the fatherly protectiveness Garret still had in him was building to an explosive point. Until the bell jangled over his office door and Bug entered his office. "Dr. Macy….old Mr. Russell fell in the bath house and can't get up. I was wondering if you could come…"

Garret nodded, glad to have the distraction for himself and Jordan. If he was gone, Jordan would have to stay out in the main part of the building. And that would mean that Hoyt couldn't continue his tirade. He rapped stridently on his office door. "Jordan… I need you out here. Mr. Russell has fallen and I've got to go to him….he can't get up."

"How bad is it?" She called from the other side of the door, just as glad as Garret was to have an excuse get away from Woody's questioning.

"I don't know yet. But you're in charge until I get back."

"Okay." Jordan pushed past Woody, but before her hand could turn the knob to open the door, she felt the Marshal's hand cage hers once again…all tensile strength and sinew.

"This isn't over," he growled in a low whisper in her ear.

"It is for right now."

"No…it's not. I can't put you in jail, Miss Cavanaugh, but I can place you under house arrest right here."

Jordan turned then and eyed him down, giving him the same look she had given Pollack when she sent him packing.

Only it didn't work with the blue-eyed Marshal. He had that Lucifer look on his face again. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as she felt her heart break a little for the first time. Then she pulled herself together.

"Do what you have to," she said coldly, turning the knob under his hand and leaving the office. Marshal Hoyt was right. He was no gentleman.

* * *

So they squared off in the office…Woody lazily leaning back against the wall, not leaving the premises as Garret had ordered him to. Instead it seemed he was casually watching Jordan go about her daily tasks of cleaning the equipment and exam room…rolling bandages…entering information in Garret's journals. Getting caught up on her medical reading.

And she spent the larger part of the morning ignoring him. Or at least trying to. It was hard to overlook that man anywhere and when he was right under your nose it was doubly hard. But Jordan put on the smooth front she had perfected while she was on the battlefield…unruffled and unflappable.

But if Woody appreciated it or was the least bit cowed by it, he didn't let on. He just continued his watch, as if waiting for her to break down any minute. Jordan chuckled to herself. He was in for a long wait.

Until once again the bell jangled over the office door. "Jordan…." a breathless voice called from the doorway. It was Nigel, looking more disheveled than Jordan had ever seen the dandy look.

"What's wrong, Nigel?" she asked, automatically going for her doctor's bag.

"It's Mrs. Stoneman….Ben just rode into town hysterical. She's gone into labor…."

"And he left her out on the claim _by herself?_" Jordan asked, her voice rising in fury. _Men…they're all alike…_

"Apparently she sent him…it's still early."

Jordan swore under her breath…a habit she had fallen into during the war…and one she couldn't break. Nigel's lips turned up in amusement as Woody frowned disapprovingly at her.

"I have to go," she said to Woody.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me what you know…" Woody said, blocking the door with his body.

"I have got to go. Lori Stoneman is expecting twins. This delivery could kill her. Do you want that on your conscience?" she asked, the cold edge of reality lacing her voice.

"Send Garret," Woody said over her head, directing his comment to Nigel.

Nigel looked from Woody to Jordan…he wasn't sure what happened between the two…last night at the dance he had been excited for them, hoping that at long last his friend Jordan had found someone that would be willing to accept her as she was…a doctor and a woman…and love her. Apparently something had gone seriously wrong by the way they were looking at each other now. But Nigel didn't have time for that. He had to get Lori the help she needed. "Garret's still tied up with Mr. Russell. He thinks the old man has broken his hip. He said for you to go…he'd try to catch up with you later."

"I've got to go, Woody. I have to," Jordan said, a defiant tone in her voice. She'd be damned if Lori Stoneman or her babies would suffer a minute because of this man's stubbornness and stupidity. "If you think I'll run away, you're welcome to come with me and keep an eye on me there. But I have got to go. And you're not stopping me. Is my horse ready?" she asked Nigel as she swept past the Marshal and headed outside.

"I've got it ready to mount," Nigel replied. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on things."

"Thanks, Nige." Without a backward glance she pulled her skirts up, mounted Camino astride instead of side saddle and took off down the dusty road, her horse at a full run, holding her bag and not watching to see if Woody was following.

Which he was with some difficulty. He untethered Chevelle and followed close behind. _She rides astride and wears men's clothing…what the hell have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

Jordan surveyed the tiny cabin with a practiced eye. There was a lot she needed to do before Lori delivered the twins that Garret had predicted. Like most frontier women, Lori had done what she needed to weeks before. The cabin was spotless, the baskets ready for the babies to sleep in…little gowns and diapers prepared. Jordan caught herself with tears in her eyes over that. Most women Jordan's age had a gaggle of children of their own following them around like stair steps.

In truth, if you looked in Jordan's workbasket back at her father's claim, you would find that she had knitted several pairs of booties and made a few gowns years ago … part of her dream she had to reluctantly pack away when she decided to become a doctor. Births made her revisit that dream, wondering just what choosing career over family had really cost her.

With Woody by her side this afternoon, it was doubly hard. She mentally shook herself and then rushed to prepare for the births. The first thing she had to do was get rid of Ben…he was babbling to Lori that he didn't want anything to happen to her…that he wouldn't survive without her. Lori didn't need to hear this. She needed to concentrate on getting her babies here. Frowning, Jordan thought for a minute and then pulled Woody aside. "I need your help with Ben,' she whispered.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get him out of here and away from his wife …right now she needs to focus on what's in front of her…what she has to do…"

"And how do you suppose I do that? Arrest him for caring about his wife?" Woody hissed.

"No…take this," Jordan fished out a liquor bottle out of her medical bag. "Take him outside and get him drunk. Ben falls asleep when he's had about three shots. Then bring the rest of what's in the bottle back in here to me."

"Don't I get to have a shot?"

Jordan shook her head. "No. Maybe later we both will take one, but Lori may need what's left."

Woody nodded in comprehension. If the hurt got bad, Jordan may need to mix the whiskey with some laudanum to take the edge off Lori's pain. He had seen nurses do that on the battlefield all the time. As a matter of fact, he had been on the receiving end of the medication when he was shot. Woody took Ben by the arm and steered him towards the porch. "This is no place for us, Mr. Stoneman…this is all women's work…."

"But my wife," Ben babbled. "I don't want to leave her…"

"She'll be fine. She's in the best hands in all of Texas…" Woody took him out the door and then looked over his shoulder at Jordan. She was completely absorbed in her work, making Lori as comfortable as possible….heating water over the fireplace…cleaning her scissors and making sure there was string available. Woody shut his eyes and closed the door. For everyone's sake, he hoped it was an easy birth.

A half an hour and one sound asleep Ben Stoneman later, Woody let himself back in the small cabin to find Jordan holding the woman's hand and trying to see if the birth was progressing….her hand placed gently on Lori's abdomen. "Good. I'm glad you're back in here…how's Ben?"

"Asleep."

"Good. Hold Lori's hand and talk her through this…"

"What?" Woody heard the panic rising in his own voice. He had done many things….helped birth heifers back home in Wisconsin…led his men on the charge in Cowpens and Manassas…bound up wounds… assisted in amputating a few badly mangled limbs on the battlefield before gangrene could set in.

But he had never assisted in a baby's birth. Not a human one at least.

"You heard me. I can't do this by myself, and there's no need just to have you standing around underfoot when I need help. You said you had to keep an eye on me….so what better way to do that than this?" Jordan continued.

"But….I've never…"

"Well, I have. This is one area I have plenty of experience, Farm Boy. Maybe not personally, but I've delivered quite a few babies. And I can't keep a watch on what's happening down there while I have to hold her hand up there. So you hold her hand and keep her calm…I'll handle the rest."

"And that's all I have to do…."

"That's it. I'll save the gory stuff for me...I'm selfish that way." Jordan turned to Lori. "This is Marshal Hoyt…he rode out with me…he's going to hold your hand and tell you what's happening so I can help your babies, okay?"

Lori nodded, grimacing through another contraction, and gripping Woody's hand tightly. Woody bit his lip as Lori's fingers caught his in a death lock. He had no idea women could be so strong. He readjusted his grip on her hand.

"Wipe her forehead with this…" Jordan handed him a cloth dipped in cool water. "She's sweating. Make her as comfortable as possible…"

Woody gently mopped the woman's brow….noting that her eyes were focused and her mouth was set with the task ahead of her. He glanced at Jordan who had moved to the end of the bed, adjusting the sheets and bending Lori's knees. "Just about ready…" she said to Lori. "In a little while, I'm going to tell you to push….and you're going to have to try real hard…to push your babies out.

Lori nodded again. "There's a piece of leather…." she motioned to the dresser beside the bed.

"Good girl. I wish all mothers were as prepared as you are," Jordan said with a gentle smile, getting the leather and placing it between Lori's teeth. Woody understood now…during the contractions, Lori would bite down on the leather to help deal with the pain…the same tactic he had seen wounded soldiers use. Evidently Jordan had thought enough head of time to tell this young woman to try the same thing.

Later, when Woody tried to remember the rest of the labor, it all came back as a blur. He remembered the last contractions, how hard they were on Lori…how he had to hold her in the bed. He remembered Jordan's gentle words of encouragement and love…telling her when to push…when to stop…Her voice never raised in panic…not even when she told Lori the cord was around one of the babies' neck and to stop pushing for a moment so she could get it off.

He remembered the first tiny cry and then minutes later the second. He recalled Jordan telling Lori she had two sons. He remembered Lori's tears of joy.

He watched as Jordan gently cleaned the babies up and dressed them, wrapping them in the blankets that Lori had crocheted.

He remembered the tears in Jordan's eyes as she held the squirming infants…and was surprised to feel moisture on his own face. He turned away to go roust Ben and let him know he was a father….Ben went in…Woody remained on the porch to compose himself, watching Jordan through the window. She had placed one of the infants in Lori's arms and another in Ben's, and then turned away to wash her hands in lye soap to get the blood off. She caught his gaze through the kitchen window, and lowered her eyes.

Woody sniffed back his tears….trying vainly to get his manhood back in place. Whatever Jordan knew, he'd wager the rest of his expense money she didn't know anything for sure about gun smuggling. She may have her suspicions, but she didn't know the cold, hard facts. Garret had been right all along. Jordan had more compassion in her little finger than most people had in their whole body. He had witnessed that tonight. He waited for her to finish and tell the couple good night and that she'd be back to check on everyone tomorrow. Meanwhile, as soon as she got back into town, she'd send Mrs. Seeley…Matt's mom…out to the claim to help them tonight. Mrs. Seeley was a midwife with a sterling reputation.

Woody held the door open for her and helped her in Camino's saddle…noting her shoulders were sagging in exhaustion. "Y…you did good…." he finally said, breaking the stillness of the evening.

"Thanks. You didn't do so badly yourself, Farm Boy."

Woody swallowed a chuckle at her new nickname for him. "I think I owe you an apology…"

"For what?" Jordan's curiosity was peaked. Did he mean for kissing her or for his conduct today?

"For thinking you'd know something about the smuggling ring. If you knew, you'd tell me. Anyone that fights that hard for life….bringing it into the world and keeping it there … wouldn't participate in anything that might harm it."

Jordan bowed her head for a minute. "Thank you," she whispered.

At least he wasn't apologizing for the kisses.


	12. The Problematic Cavanaughs

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Problematic Cavanaughs**

They rode in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Jordan didn't seem to mind when Woody missed the turn to go back to town and followed her to the claim. Even after all the hard words it almost felt natural for him to be there. Something achingly nostalgic. She didn't say anything when he offered to take care of her horse for the night and check the rest of the livestock. She barely had the energy to say goodnight when he knocked on the door. Woody waited in the paddock for the homey sight of smoke coming out of the chimney before he rode back into town.

He took his time taking care of his own mount trying, to put in perspective what he had just experienced. Mrs. Stoneman wasn't any bigger than a minute. He remembered the first time he saw the young woman on the arm of her husband as they took their spot in a pew the first Sunday he as in town. He remembered thinking that the young couple had no business being married, let alone starting a family. He rode out to the Stoneman's little farm with Jordan having bad feeling about the whole thing. He couldn't picture how a young, tiny woman like Lori Stoneman could give birth without splitting in two. He left totally amazed by the strength of both women.

After he finished combing his paint's fancy coat, he scooped the gelding an extra measure of oats. Chevelle greedily body checked his master out of the way in his effort to get to the feed bag.

You'd be history if you weren't so damn good-looking," Woody said with a lopsided smile. "You're too high maintenance for you own good."

"Marshal..." Max's voice came out of nowhere...so did his fist.

The Irishman in Woody had been hit enough to know that Max had pulled his punch...but not by very much. He tasted blood and ran his tongue over his teeth, counting each one. Satisfied they were all still there, he swore; ready to take a swing himself. Only Max's yielding hands made him stand down.

"I should beat you to a pulp for taken advantage of my little girl, Hoyt...but since Jordan didn't see the need to lay you out proper, I won't."

Woody grinned at the memory of Jordan doing just that. "Right neighborly of you," Woody said sarcastically wiping the blood from his lip.

"I'm here to give you some advice..."

"I know what you're about to tell me. You're about to tell me to back off. That Jordan's a handful of trouble and I should just keep on moving without stopping.."

In spite of himself, Max had to chuckle. "Maybe you should listen to that little voice in your head, Hoyt...But no," Max's grin faded as quickly as the oats in Chevelle's feed bag. He looked up and down the quiet corral. "It's because of Jordan I want to tell you that this might be a fine time to ride out of town and forget about this crazy-ass idea you have about guns being smuggled through Tyler."

_Damn...damnit...damn _Woody would have rather had Max tell him to ride out of town because of the liberties he took with Jordan. Woody took a deep breath before he spoke. "Would you care to explain that?"

Whatever nonchalance Max had in his voice disappeared leaving,Woody no doubts that Max knew everything. "No, I don't care to. Just...go Hoyt. Before someone gets hurt."

"I can't do that Max. I have job to do and I intend to do it," Woody said with the cold conviction of a professional, while inside he felt his heart break just a little. _I intend to do it even if it means taking you in. _And if that ended up being the case, Woody knew Jordan would never forgive him.

Max simply nodded like he had made some decision. "Well, you have to do what you have to do. Just watch your back, Marshal."

With that Max walked away.

The lawman in Woody told him to follow Max and force whatever he knew out of him. The man in Woody told him to wait, and figure out how to handle this without hurting Jordan. Woody kicked a stone. He'd wait.

The next day Woody realized it was a decision he'd regret for the rest of his life...

* * *

"What do you mean he left!"

Nigel stood behind the bar, in his shirtsleeves and garters, and simply repeated himself to the irate marshal. "I'm sorry mate. He's gone. He said he wanted to take some time for himself and make some peace with his life. He asked me to keep an eye on the place until Jordan decided what to do with it."

Woody draw in a breath and expelled it with such a force that he hoped would take that sinking feeling out of his gut. It didn't work. He knew if he went upstairs he'd find it empty...as well as the claim.

Woody mumbled a quick thanks and asked Nigel if he knew where Jordan was -- to which Nigel answered that he would assume Garret's office. But when Woody went to see her, she wasn't there.

"She was obviously distracted this morning, so I sent her out to check on Mrs. Stoneman and the twins, and then I told her to take the rest of the day off, " Garret replied. "Jordan and Max have been having problems lately, Woody. This really didn't come out of the blue."

"What do you mean 'problems'?"

Garret turned away from the younger man and shifted a roll of bandages from one shelve to another and back again. "Max hasn't always been honest about certain things with Jordan that he should have and she's been challenging him on them."

"What do you mean 'certain things'? What has Max been hiding, Doc?"

Garret was saved from saying anything else when Jeffery Brandau all but fell in the front door holding his silk handkerchief over his mouth. "Peter was shoveling the road and apparently took a pretty deep splinter. If he didn't feel the need to...fling that shovel so far, he wouldn't have this problem. I told him to wait around back. I don't know how a man can get so dirty shoveling a few piles of shi...good morning Marshal. I hope you're feeling alright. I've been feeling a little under the weather since the dance but I'm just not used to being outside in the night air.."

Garret gave Woody a thin smile and excused himself. He was more comfortable with Peter's genuine horseshit than Brandau's imagined. The Marshal looked like a man that could deal with him for awhile.

* * *

Jordan stayed with Lori Stoneman longer than she had expected. The babies were doing wonderfully. They were pink, healthy, and absolutely adorable. Jordan let herself escape in Ben and Lori's happiness. That way she didn't have to think about the heartbreak of night before.

Once Woody left, Jordan had fixed herself a simple meal and debated on whether she had enough energy to haul water for a bath or not. She was surprised to hear her father ride up. Thinking that the bar must be slow and he locked up early, Jordan hurried to put another sandwich together. Max walked in and told her to forget dinner and asked her to fix him a pack. He was going away for awhile. He tried to tell her that he was leaving because she needed to move on with her life and she couldn't if she had to take care of her old man...Jordan saw through the flimsy excuse immediately. She tried to confront him. She argued until she was blue in the face, but Max was adamant and stuck to his story. Before he could walk out the door he told her that if anything happened to him that she should trust Marshal Hoyt. If she needed help Woody was the only person that could help her. He didn't leave her any other choice but to let him ride away.

"Ben suggested we name them after our fathers."

Lori's pride broke through the dark shadows in Jordan's mind and brought her attention back to the warm, wiggly baby in her arms.

"I think that would be wonderful, Lori. I'm sure they'd be very proud."

Jordan smiled and cooed at the little person she cradled so close, but when the baby turned his head and began to root against her breast Jordan felt a little pang of feminine disappointment. Almost reluctantly she passed the baby back to his mother and after giving the new mother some last minute instructions mumbled her excuses about getting back to town. Jordan stepped back out into the bright Texas sun and brushed her hands over her face hoping to stop her self-indulgent tears before they started.

"Are you alright Dr. Cavanaugh?"

"Ben? Oh yes...yes. It's...it's the sun. It's bright today."

Ben squinted and looked up at the cloudless sky. "Yes ma'am, it's a scorcher, that's for sure."

Jordan rode out too preoccupied to realize that the young Ben Stoneman called her "doctor" let alone notice the rider waiting on the trail for her.

Malden waited until Jordan was out of range of the Stoneman spread. It's not that he couldn't handle young Ben, but the idea of leaving little Lori a widow the day after giving birth to twins was too much even for him. Still he had his orders. The sheriff made sure his gun was loaded and rode out after the problematic Cavanaugh chit.


	13. Home Alone

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Home Alone**

Jordan sighed and shifted in her saddle, riding back out to her father's claim. After somewhat tearfully explaining Max's abrupt and mysterious departure to Garret, her boss had given her the day off, admonishing her to go back to the claim…try to decide what she was going to do….stay there? Move into town over the office? How was she going to deal with the bar? She had to admit, she had a lot to think about…and no matter which way she turned, it seemed that Woody, babies, her job, and now all that Max had handed her seemed to be muddled up inside her head. For the first time in a long time, Jordan felt as if she had lost her footing….that she was losing her way. She wasn't quite sure what it all meant and what she was going to do.

For the first time since JD Pollack had briefly and disastrously entered her life, Jordan once again revisited her decision about becoming a doctor. She had realized, when Garret had asked to come to Tyler with her from Washington DC, what his plans were for her. Garret had mentioned several times on the Civil War battlefields that Jordan was a better "doctor" than many of the men out there. Jordan knew that Garret was following her home to train her to become a physician.

And she had been aware from the moment she had said "yes" to a medical career, she had seemingly said "no" to anything else in her life. Husband. Babies. It was hard enough for a frontier woman to live a normal life as a wife and mother….but to have something else pulling at her time…well, Jordan was wise enough about life to realize that it would take a rare man to accept her as a doctor, a woman, a wife, and a mother.

Frankly, she knew most men would ask her to give up something…probably medicine. That's why, once she returned from the war, she had blown off any male who had expressed an interest in her romantically…she was married to her job.

It had taken a blue-eyed Marshal from back East to make her re-examine her decision. Was it really worth it…was her job worth giving up what she could possibly have with a man…feel with one…be with one? The glint in Woody's eyes made her wonder…and the feel of his lips against hers totally took any coherent thought out of her head. But somehow, Jordan knew if there was one man who would accept her just the way she was…all the baggage in tact and not try to change anything, it was Woodrow Wilson Hoyt. Jordan glanced down at her jean-clad legs. Woody hadn't even blinked an eye when he saw her in men's clothing. Not the same reaction she got from most men when she sashayed past them in Levi's for the very first time.

But she remembered the look on his face when she showed up for the lunchbox auction in her lavender dress. She smiled softly at the memory. He liked her dressed up, too. He had kissed her three times that day. She remembered each one. The first two caught her by surprise. The last one really didn't. She anticipated he would want a good night kiss at the door.

She just hoped she had responded correctly. Jordan blinked back her tears of uncertainty. Despite all of her knowledge in the medical field, the only true facts she had about what a man and woman were supposed to be like together were from Garret's physician books. She knew the basic, biological facts…what would function when and what the outcome would hopefully be nine months down the road.

As far as the emotions behind the act, other than her secretive readings of Nigel's racier dim-witted penny dreadfuls, she really knew nothing. At least personally. She knew how those books said the woman felt when the man kissed her…and touched her. But Jordan hadn't been so sure anything could be that …well….wonderful.

At least until she met Woody. The man who made her begin to rethink everything about her decision. Perhaps with him, she could have everything…_Until he leaves you, too,_ the little voice in the back of her head told her. _As soon as Marshal Hoyt has this whole gun smuggling thing figured out, he's going to be sent out on another assignment. After all, he's an employee of the United States government, not sheriff of a little, Podunk town like Tyler._

Jordan shook her head as she turned Camino onto her father's claim. Everything was too muddled up inside her brain to make any decision today. She'd grab a bite of lunch and get busy…she had already milked this morning, but the stable needed cleaning and the chickens still had to be fed and watered. Glancing around, she realized it was a nice, large claim…one her father had built with her mother when they were planning a life together…with children.

Only now her mother was dead, her father was gone; she was the only child….and the claim may just be too much for her to handle.

* * *

_Leave her alone…she needs time to think…_Woody kept repeating to himself. More than once, he had checked Chevelle's reigns as he rode through town when he would absent-mindedly point the horse towards the northwest to ride out to Max's claim and check on Jordan. _She needs at least 24-hours to make some decisions…and she can't with me underfoot. I'll be gone in a few weeks. The decisions she makes now, she'll have to live with for a while. I don't need to influence her…as if I ever could…but still…I don't like her all the way out there by herself._ The debate waged for hours. The lawman in Woody wanted to go and assure himself of Jordan's safety. The man in him was prompting the Marshal to let her be for a while.

Squinting his eyes against the bright Texas sun, Woody hoped that his choice of leaving her alone wouldn't have serious repercussions as it did with Max. He couldn't imagine Jordan running away, but he could see her shutting down…and shutting those who cared for her completely out…becoming nearly recluse. But she wouldn't do it in a day. _No…she needs the time…_

Deciding to occupy himself with the gun smuggling case while she was gone, Woody quickly thought through his list of suspects…a list that kept growing shorter each day. Nigel had long been eliminated, as had most of the citizens of Tyler.

The only person he still was not getting a straight answer from was Sheriff Malden…who was due to retire at the end of this week. Determinedly setting his lips and pulling his Stetson over his eyes a little further, Woody gently kicked Chevelle's side and headed the gelding towards the sheriff's office. He'd get some answers from Malden. Today. He had to. No one knew what the sheriff's retirement plans were. He had made no move to open a business or expand his claim. And according to Matt Seeley, the man had also not purchased any train or stage tickets to get him out of town at the end of the week.

He tied Chevelle at the post and headed into Malden's office….and looked in only to find it deserted. The sheriff hadn't even built a fire in the stove to make coffee that morning.

* * *

Jordan closed the door to the chicken coop, a basket of eggs in one hand and the other on her skirt, keeping it out of the way of the rooster and the rough boards of the barn. She had cleaned out the stable and fed Camino, straightened up the tack, and made sure the chickens were taken care of.

Absent-mindedly, she looked towards the west, the sun still a ball of furious heat in the sky…it was then she saw it…or thought she saw it…shadows set against the sun…silhouettes of men on horseback. She swallowed hard and remembered her father's repeating Henry was still hanging on the inside of the house, above the front door. She hurried from the coop to the house…not so fast as to raise any suspicions that she had seen anyone, but fast enough that she could get inside before the shadows made it to the paddock. She entered the house, slammed the door, and pulled the latch down, very much aware that the fine hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.

Jordan had stayed on the claim many times by herself. And she had never been frightened. Not until now. Not with all these strangers showing up in the desert, murdered. Not until Max had left Tyler. At least when Max was at the Pogue, she knew at some point he'd be heading home.

She no longer had that reassurance. Swallowing her fear, and hoping she'd laugh at herself later, she lifted the Henry from its hooks above the door, making sure it was loaded and ready to fire. Then quietly she sat and waited to see if the silhouettes made it to her front door.

She didn't have to wait long. Soon there was a loud knock at her door. "Who is it?" she asked, praying that her voice sounded nonchalantly normal.

"Sheriff Malden, Jordan. Open up."

"Sheriff…" Jordan stalled. While she didn't exactly like the man – he had played the bully sheriff too many times with her for her to have any fond feelings for him – he was the sheriff. A lawman. Someone she could trust.

Her father's words tripped through her mind…_if anything happens, go to Marshal Hoyt. You can trust him, Jordan._ But maybe that was because there was no love lost between Max and Malden. But Malden _was_ sheriff…surely she could trust him…

Hesitantly she lifted the latch, keeping the repeating Henry hid in the folds of her skirt. She opened the door a crack. Malden's form filled her vision, along with the face of a man she hadn't seen in years…_Carl Jeffers…what in the hell is he doing here?_

"Is Max at home?" Malden asked, surveying the room with a sweep of his eyes.

"No…He's not."

"He's not at the Pogue either. I've heard Nigel's running it now."

Jordan swallowed hard. The look on Malden's face, coupled with the sadistic face of Jeffers and the man behind him was making her very uneasy. "Just for a few days," she said, praying to buy time with some kind of excuse.

"Where's he at, Jordan?" Malden asked.

"Dad's just taken a few days off to get away…"

Malden nodded and opened his mouth to speak but Jeffers butted in. "Know what I think?" he asked. "I think Max knows something about those smuggled guns…and he's gone to make sure he can hide them from that new marshal. That's what I think, Sheriff."

Jordan took a deep breath. If these men were accusing her father of what she thought they were…but Max didn't…he couldn't. "Dad would never…."

"I know… I know, Jordan," Malden said, sympathetically shaking his head. "You'll have to excuse Carl here. Sometimes he speaks out of turn. But do you know where Max is, Jordan?"

She shook her head. "No…I don't."

"So he left you on this claim…by yourself…."

Jordan felt the fear rise to her throat and freeze her in place.

"Well…that wasn't wise, my dear. Not wise at all," Malden continued. "And I think you do know where he is…and what he's up to. And I want you to tell me…"

"But I don't know…"

"That's okay, Jordan. Just think back over everything he said to you. I'm sure you'll remember."

Jordan tried to shut the door on the men, but Malden was a lot bigger and stronger than she was. The sheriff simply put his shoulder to the door and pushed. The oak slab gave away without any hesitation. Jordan raised the Henry. "I told you I don't remember." She cocked it. "Now get out."

"Oh, I don't think so. I don't think we'll leave just yet…but here's what I do think. I do think that you're going to put down that gun and we're going to have a little talk."

"I said get out…" She lowered her voice to make it sound more ominous. Malden simply chuckled and made a grab for her gun – and then her.


	14. Trust Me

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Trust Me**

After a sleepless night…tossing and turning…seeing Jordan every time he shut his eyelids, Woody got up with the sun and walked over to Garret's office. Of course the doctor's office wasn't opened yet and Jordan was nowhere in sight, but Woody was fully prepared to wait until he saw her ride up. When he did dream last night, it was uneasy visions of her … calling for him…needing help. In the morning's dim light, he had tried to shake off the feeling, knowing it was probably just the sum result of yesterday's fears of her being on Max's claim by herself.

But those emotions didn't fade with the moon and stars. So he was going to sit on the stoop to Garret's office and wait…knowing the sight of her safe and sound would ease his mind considerable. He had been there a few minutes short of an hour when Garret rode up. "Morning, Marshal. Can I help you?"

"No…just waiting on Jordan."

Garret hid a smile to himself. It was becoming more and more apparent to everyone except maybe Woody and Jordan themselves that they were meant for each other. A perfect match of wills, Irish stubbornness…and deep affection. And if Woody had been waiting a while, it could only mean one thing…

"Did you hear from her at all yesterday?" Woody's question cut in on Garret's thoughts.

"No. Why?"

Woody stood from his seat on the stoop and walked in uneasy paces on the wooden sidewalk. "I don't know…with everything that is going on…I just am worried about her being on that claim by herself…"

"Jordan can take care of herself, Woody. I've seen the lady in action….on the battlefield. I've seen her deal with drunken soldiers, pushy officers, and belligerent doctors. She can stand her ground."

_I know that all too well – up close and personal, but stand up against a gun?_ Woody thought and then shook himself. _Nothing happened last night_.

"Tell you what….why don't you come in here and I'll make us some coffee and you can wait on her in a comfortable chair. She's generally here about an hour behind me."

Woody nodded and followed Garret into the office, fighting the urge just simply to turn Chevelle to the northwest and ride out to meet her. She'd laugh at him….maybe even be mad at him for worrying so much, but frankly, he didn't give a damn. His dreams had been disturbing and lack of sleep had made him irritable…_more so than usual_, he thought. He accepted Garret's cup of coffee with a grimace.

Woody was obviously worried, Garret noted…to the point the marshal hadn't shaved or combed his hair this morning. It looked as if he simply rolled out of bed and made his way to the office…which was mostly true. "She'll be here in a few minutes," Garret said, trying to soothe him.

But Jordan wasn't. She wasn't there in an hour…or an hour and a half. Woody swallowed the last of his coffee. "Is she ever this late?"

"Not unless she's sent word that she's sick or gone to see a patient on the way in to work."

"Has she sent word?"

Garret shook his head.

Woody pulled on his Stetson. "Then I'm going out to Max's claim. Something doesn't feel right…"

"I think I'll join you, if you don't mind," Garret answered. "Give me a minute…" He hung the closed sign on the door and grabbed his hat as well. In a few minutes, the men had their horses riding at a gallop towards Max's house.

It looked quiet….ominously quiet…and dark. Woody climbed off Chevelle and tried the door. It wasn't locked and easily pushed open…with a sinking heart, he surveyed the sight. Overturned table, chairs….knickknacks scattered around as if a small twister had bolted through the house. Her workbasket turned upside down.

She had gone…but she didn't leave without a fight.

Neither did Sheriff Malden. Whoever it was that took Jordan had also shot the sheriff in the back and left him to die in Jordan's front parlor…and it looked like the repeating Henry beside him could be the murder weapon.

* * *

Jordan wearily raised her head from her chest and warily looked at her captors. It had been a long night. Jeffers and the other man, who she discovered was a Kevin Cahill, had overpowered her, took her gun, tied her up and rode her off the claim. With a sinking heart, she realized that it would be hours before Garret would even possibly realize she was missing. She had worked hard to keep her wits about her…thanking God for her battlefield experience. Her career as a nurse among some of the Union's and the Confederacy's roughest soldiers had honed her skills in that area.

They had taken her to a cabin somewhere…the best she could figure it was a little southeast of her father's claim, to an area she wasn't familiar with. They had questioned her for hours about Max while she was tied to a chair. Finally exhausted themselves, Cahill and Jeffers had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, leaving Jordan tied, gagged, and alone with her thoughts.

They hadn't touched her. Not once…a fact that Jordan was very grateful for. That had been her worst nightmare…that her first _encounter_ with a man would be a forced and brutal one. But with the way things were going now for her, she wondered if there would be a first time for her at all…and her thoughts drifted back to Woody. When Garret discovered she was missing, Jordan was sure that he'd go find Woody and the Marshal would begin looking for her.

But would he be able to find her? She had put up a struggle at the claim. It was more than apparent she didn't go willingly or easily. And Malden's dead body was bound to raise an alarm and a posse. She knew Woody would follow the horses' hoof prints…for as long as he could.

Would he get to her too late…despite his best efforts, would the Marshal get to her too late? _He's a good man, Jordan. If something happens to me, go to Woody. You can trust him._ Her father's words tripped through her mind one more time.

_I do…I do trust him,_ she thought to herself. _I just hope I'm able to see him again and let him know that…he may be leaving Tyler soon, but I need him to know…_She tried to quash the fear rising in her throat as she saw her captors begin to stir with the early morning light. They didn't believe her last night as time after time she denied knowing where Max was and what, if anything, he knew about the gun smuggling. Finally Jeffers grew angry with her. Jordan tried to hide the fear in her eyes when the he stood and stretched, turning his attention towards Jordan. "Good morning, Miss Cavanaugh. I hope you slept well…because today I have to finish what I started with you."

Jordan's eyes grew rounder as the man stepped toward her and flicked out his Bowie knife. _Woody…I need you now…where are you?_

* * *

"They went this way," Woody told Garret, after examining the hoof prints in the paddock. "And there's at least two of them, maybe three…it's hard to tell."

"Southeast…." Garret muttered. "What the hell are they doing going that way?"

"What's out there, Doc?"

"Not a whole lot….sagebrush, a few scrub trees…mainly wilderness. It could take…" Garret's voice faded off. Woody knew how that sentence would have ended. _It could take days, weeks, even months, to find her…if we ever do._

Suddenly Garret's lips twisted into a grimace. "But there are a few abandoned mine shacks out there…"

"Show me," Woody directed, kicking Chevelle into a full run.

Garret led Woody to the area where the nearest abandoned mine shack was. Woody cautiously circled it from a distance, trying to get a glimpse of anything that would lead him to think that Jordan was there…if she had been there at all.

"Woody," Garret's sharp call caught his attention at once. His eyes followed the direction that Garret was pointing to…a bluff in the distance…one with a tree…one with Jordan and two men on horseback. Woody watched in horror as the men threw a rope with a noose on it across the branch and then placed it over Jordan's neck. Swallowing his horror and raising his rifle, he waited until he could get a clear shot…one with Jordan out of range. The men slapped Camino to make him start and run while at the same time riding out of the way themselves.

The marshal fired off two quick shots…one of the bullets took out one of the men….and the other one sliced the rope into that was hanging Jordan by the neck.

* * *

From that point on, everything seemed to go in slow motion for Woody. He saw Cahill's body arch and fall off his horse…he saw Jordan hang suspended from the noose for a moment and then the rope was cut and she fell hard to the ground. Jeffers had completely disappeared.

It only took a second for someone's neck to snap when they were hung…Woody rode Chevelle frantically to Jordan praying for the best, but expecting the worse. "Jordan….Jordan…" he said once he reached her, a crumpled heap on the dry, Texas earth. He gently turned her over. "Jordan…Jo?" Relief was nowhere near an apt description of what he felt when he saw the slight rise and fall of her chest.

"Loosen her blouse," Garret told him, coming up from behind. "The neck part…let's see what kind of damage we have."

With fumbling fingers, Woody cut the noose from her neck and slid the top four buttons of her shirt open, revealing a nasty rope burn marring her fair skin. He knew that shortly bruising would begin to bloom around it, leaving not only her neck injured, but also her throat painfully sore. He left her for a minute and went back over to his horse, returning with a canteen and a clean bandana. Dampening the cloth with some water, he gingerly dabbed the affected area clean and was rewarded with a groan from her. "Jordan? Jordan…can you hear me?"

She did. She heard him and the near panic in his voice. Her eyes fluttered open then shut briefly against the Texas sun. "You found me," she said in a hoarse whisper.

"Of course…" He tenderly lifted her into a sitting position. "We need to let Garret have a look at you, Jo."

"Hey Jordan. Give you one day off and see what kind of trouble you get into?" Garret softly teased, examining her neck. There was swelling and bruising…and she was going to be sore, but as far as he could tell, that was it. "No broken bones," he said to Woody, "but we need to get her back into town so she can rest and recuperate."

Woody nodded, noting that Jordan was shivering in the hot Texas sun. He had seen soldiers do that on a battlefield after being injured…begin shivering in response to the trauma they endured. Doctors called it shock. Woody just knew he had to keep her warm. "Hand me that blanket off the back roll of Chevelle," he told Garret.

Wrapping her up, he lifted her in his arms and stood. "Let's get her back quick…I don't like being out here with Jeffers running loose." He lifted Jordan into his saddle and then swung in behind her, cradling her against him, blanket and all. He rode with her like that all the way back to Tyler, noting every rise and fall of her chest, how the bruises were beginning to show on her neck. How one of her hands clutched the front of his shirt like she was never going to let him go. He gently raised that hand to his lips and kissed the rough skin. Her eyelids fluttered open and her cheeks flushed before she buried her head in his chest. "I've got you, Jordan. Nothing like this is ever going to happen to you again. You can trust me."

She had never felt safer in her life than she did that moment in his arms. Safe. Secure. Perhaps even loved. "I know," she whispered back in a hoarse voice. "I know."


	15. ‘Round Up the Posse, We’re Going After t

**Chapter Fifteen**

'**Round Up the Posse, We're Going After the Bad Guys**

By the time Garret had Jordan safely ensconced in the back room he called his infirmary, the whole town was in a state of controlled chaos which spilled over into outright mayhem when Sidney and Peter were sent out to the Cavanaugh place to pick up the remains of the sheriff.

Rene' Walcott nominated herself to get to the bottom of the situation. She strode into Garret's office to demand answers from the young marshal and found the gentleman in question pacing a hole in the threadbare rug on the parlor floor.

"Marshal Hoyt, a word please."

Rene' Walcott had an air of power about her that couldn't be denied. Woody had served under officers, both in the war and with the law, that couldn't hold a candle to the little shopkeeper. He had no doubts if Mrs. Walcott had been born a man she would have been governor of the territory by now...if not king and supreme ruler.

"Ma'am," Woody said feverously finger combing his hair.

"Is it true? Is Sheriff Malden dead?"

"Yes ma'am. He was shot in the back at the Cavanaugh place."

"Curious. Max disappears without warning. Now the last man he was seen arguing with is dead. Was he there Marshal Hoyt?" Rene's voice was cool and crisp, reminding Woody of a fancy city-lawyer he once admired while watching one of his cases go to trial.

"No. There was no sign of him at the claim. It looks like he rode out just like he said he did."

Rene' glanced at the closed door of Garret's infirmary. "Did Miss Cavanaugh do it?"

Woody pictured the scene in his mind. The over turned furniture, the fired Henry. It was three men against one...against Jordan. He hoped to hell she had the pleasure of at least taking one of them out. "We'll probably never know everything that happened out there, ma'am. But I can safely say if Jordan had anything to do with Malden's death it was in self defense," he said proudly.

Walcott blinked twice before she asked, "How is she doing?"

"Dr. Macy says he'll know more when the swelling goes down..."

The swelling scared him, almost as much as watching Jordan hanging from that tree. The ride back to town took forever as far as Woody was concerned. He didn't dare push too hard in case Jordan had injuries they couldn't see, but as she faded in and out of consciousness he worried that her airway was being closed by her own body's reaction to the stress of the rope. She was as limp as a rag doll when he passed her down to Garret to carry in to the office. The raspy sound of her struggling to take in each breath still echoed in his ears.

Rene' nodded and assured Woody that Jordan would have everything she needed while she recuperated. Woody knew she'd have more questions later...and was hoping to ask Jordan herself.

Malden's and Cahill's bodies arrived shortly after Rene' left. With Garret busy with Jordan, Sidney and Peter were left to take care of the arrangements. Woody would have preferred to take their corpses out to the prairie and let the coyotes have them, but Tyler was a civilized town. No matter how they felt, Sydney went to work on the pine boxes leaving Peter to dig a set of graves.

Peter laid Cahill out on the table and took a good look at the damage Woody's shot had done. "Fancy shot Marshal," he said rolling a piece of chewing gum around in his mouth and poking a callused finger in the hole in Cahill's chest.

"He'll look pretty for Lord Nigel's camera-box. He didn't live long enough to bleed out...like Malden did." Peter pulled a soiled handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped the blood off and motioned to the sheriff who was laid out on the other side of the room. A Henry fired at close range can make a mess of a man's belly. "He made a mighty big stain on Jordan's floor."

The voice from the doorway was cool and elegant, but had and edge of anxiety to it. "She can cover the stain with the rug from my parlor and if she doesn't like that I'll buy her a new one..."

Tallulah Simmons brushed past both Woody and Peter to look at Tom Malden's body. Woody noticed the usually well manicured Lu Simmons looked a little harried. "I had to see for myself. They really are dead."

Woody laid a hand on her shoulder which made Lu immediately square them. She turned away from the carnage and patted the roll of hair on the back of her head like she had just walked with a slick summer breeze instead of standing in a room that was thick with the smell of death.

"Where's Jeffers?" she asked almost matter-of-factly. "You missed one Marshal."

On the ride back to town Woody and Garret agreed not to say anything about the third man in hopes that someone would slip. He wasn't prepared for that person to be Lu. He had a hard time believing his landlady, a woman that over the last few weeks had become something of a confident and friend could be involved.

"Who?" he asked softly.

Lu twisted a laced-edged handkerchief in her fingers. Woody couldn't help but notice how different it was from Peter's...but with the way she was crushing the white linen it would soon be a ragged and torn as Peter's. For a woman that looked cool as highland mountain breeze, he could tell it was an act. She was nervous, scared...and something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"His name is Carl Jeffers. He left town to make his fortune out west and discovered that selling guns was easier then panning for a few grams of gold dust. He and Kevin Cahill over here, moved the operation to Tyler last fall. They were careful to keep out of town, but it didn't take long for Malden to catch wind of what has going on and even less time to weasel himself in as a partner. With the local law in their pockets Jeffers got greedy. That's when the bodies started showing up..."

Woody couldn't believe his ears. Lu was singing like a robin in the springtime. He led her over to a settee to make her more comfortable hoping to keep her talking. "Partners...or competition?"

"Is there a difference?" she answered with a mirthless laugh. The laughter faded quickly and Lu wrapped her arms around herself like a small child would on a stormy night. "One by one ...then two or three at a time. The bodies kept on showing up. The sheriff would stop by my place after ...after bringing the bodies in to town. He didn't have to say anything. I could smell...death on him. I _knew_ he killed them. Just the thought of taking a life can arouse some men. Killing is almost like being with a woman to them."

Woody reached out to touch her, offer some kind of comfort, but Lu flinched as if she had just awakened from a deep-dark dream. She brushed away his concern by simply arching a wheat-colored blow in his direction. Once again she was the refined madam that Woody knew.

"Malden talked in his sleep, Marshal. He talked about how he was going to take care of Cahill and Jeffers and take over. He wasn't worried about the Cavanaugh's and their questions. He made some veiled threats and was cocky enough to believe those would keep them in line."

"Why didn't you say anything before, Lu?"

"You mean, why I didn't say something before Jordan was hurt? I am truly sorry. Jordan's a good woman... but you know that already...don't you Marshal? Jordan tries not to notice I'm a whore," Lu added with a sad smile. "I was afraid, Marshal. They would have killed me and nobody would have batted an eye at a dead hooker."

Woody visibly flinched. Jordan wasn't the only person in town that tried to ignore how Mrs. Simmons made her living. Good manners made the fine people of Tyler trade small talk with the pretty 'widow'. But he doubted if anybody would swear vengeance over her grave. Woody knew if he were sheriff around here he'd make sure the law treated Tallulah Simmons and her girls the same as any other ladies in his jurisdiction. But she had no idea that he'd feel that way. He couldn't blame her for not trusting him.

"You're safe now Lu. Do you know where I can find Jeffers?"

Lu told him about a place just past the river bend that Malden had talked about. She was sure that's where Cahill and Jeffers had their hold up.

Woody knew he could be riding into a trap, but he had a good feeling. He had to trust her. Woody escorted Lu over to the saloon and asked Nigel to keep an eye on her while he took some men to ride out and check it out. He left Matt Seeley rounding up a posse and went back to the doctor's office to be nearer to Jordan.

He was one step away from closing his case. Normally, the adrenaline rush he always got when he was this close would have him itching to finish up his business and ride out for his next assignment.

But just the thought of leaving Tyler was sitting heavy on his heart. It wasn't just the pretty lady doctor that made his feet drag, it was the whole town. This dust bowl in the middle of nowhere felt like the closest to 'home' then any other dot on the map since before his father died.

Garret was helping himself to a cup of coffee when Woody walked back in the doctor's office. "A little pick-me-up, Marshal?" Garret asked holding up the pot. "I came to Tyler hoping to find a nice quiet place to live my life. I'm getting too old for all this."

Woody nodded and sat down for the first time all day. When Garret started to add a spot of Irish in his cup, Woody held his hand over the rim. "How's she doing?"

"The swelling's stopped, her breathing is easier. I gave her something to sleep. She'll feel like she's been trampled by McCoy's prize bull tomorrow morning, but I think she'll be fine. Madder than a hornet...but fine."

"I can imagine getting hung would ruffle any woman's feathers a little," Woody quipped over the rim of his coffee cup.

"True," Garret grinned. "No. I was thinking about her locket. It's missing. It must have snapped off her neck somewhere. She's going to be devastated. She loved that thing."

Woody remembered a locket she wore around her neck the night of the dance. It was heart-shaped and gold-colored. He couldn't recall much more. Too be honest, he was too busy trying not to notice her cleavage to really look at it.

"It was her mother's," Garret continued. "It's all she has left. That...and her nightmares."

"Nightmares?" Woody had nightmares about the war. He didn't think anybody that was unlucky enough to live through that hell escaped those occasional night terrors. He was sure Jordan saw her share of things she's as soon as forget.

"Jordan's mother was murdered when she was just a child."

Woody looked at the closed door of Jordan's room. He had seen her stop by her mother's gravesite after church and even saw her sneak over between dances the night of the social. He had just assumed that she died of natural causes like so many other frontier women did. "Murdered?"

"They never figured out who did it. Max sent the traumatized child away to live with her grandmother in Boston a few months later. I don't blame him. If my daughter saw the bloody body of my wife lying dead on the floor, I'd get her away as soon as I could. But Jordan never truly forgave him."

Woody didn't want to think of what she had gone through traveling alone to a life she didn't know. "This locket. Could she have taken it off..? Could be in her room at home?"

"I doubt it. She never took it off as far as I know."

Woody made a mental note to backtrack the trail from the claim to the mine shack. Before he left town, he'd make sure Jordan had her locket. It was the least he could do.

"Marshal?" Matt said poking his head in the door. "We're ready."

Garret looked at Woody as the young man knocked back the last drags of his coffee and reach for his hat. "Ready? Ready for what?"

"We're going after a man named Carl Jeffers," Woody said double checking the rounds in his Colt. "He's the bastard that got away."

Garret ran the name around in his head trying to place it. "It'll be dark in a few hours."

"It's not far. We'll be back by then. Just keep an eye open in case I'm wrong," he said quietly. Garret nodded. He knew what needed to be done if necessary.

Before he left, Woody quietly let himself into Jordan's room. He wasn't surprised to see Lily sitting vigil next to Jordan's bed. The abrasions and bruises ringing Jordan's neck were a vivid reminder of what almost happened. The ointment Garret had smoothed on them made the colors splash out more, making the untouched skin surrounding it look unnaturally pale. Woody swallowed back a wave of nausea.

He needed to touch her and make sure she was still there. He was glad she was sleeping. He didn't want to look in those beautiful chocolate-colored eyes when he fixing to kill a man in cold blood. In gesture that was both hesitant and intimate, he trailed his fingers over the tips of her hair that was spread over the pillow.

"He's going to pay Jordan. I said I'd keep you safe. He's never going to touch you again."


	16. Shoot Out at the River Bend

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Shoot Out at the River Bend**

Max spent the first day scouting Cahill and Jeffers little hidey-hole. He wasn't expecting a couple of drunken vaqueros sleeping the day away. He had almost convinced himself that his instincts were off and he had the wrong location when he saw a wagon role up and a decidedly heavy, oblong box being unloaded.

Max waited. He wanted Jeffers and Cahill -- not just their pitiful excuses for guards. The night of the dance they had rode in to town to make sure Max remembered what happened when he didn't tow the line. Hoyt had them spooked. They added a new threat by commenting on how much Jordan looked like her mother. He had the blood of his wife on his hands. Max wasn't going to sit still any longer and wait for the blood of his daughter's to join it. He told himself he'd wait as long as it took.

It was midday, the second day, when he recognized Jeffers riding in like a bat out of hell. Max's Spanish was rusty, but he could tell something was wrong. Jeffers ordered the cache to be loaded on a flatbed and everything packed for travel as soon as possible. Max couldn't wait for the others. Somehow he didn't think they were a problem anymore.

Three against one. He didn't like the odds, but he didn't have a choice.This needed to end...now. His plan was simple. He just rode straight in.

* * *

Woody stopped his posse about a mile from the river bend. They were a motley crew of ranchers, farmers, and businessmen. Jeffery Brandau looked like he was going to be sick from riding. Even young Ben mounted up -- despite the fact that Woody ordered him to stay back. Ben just argued back that he was a farmer...not a deputy and rode on ahead. Woody swore to himself he'd stick to the young man like glue. At least there were a few men he knew could handle themselves...even if they were knuckleheads.

"Matt. You and McCoy ride ahead and see what we're looking at."

Danny double checked the twin long barreled Colts he had strapped to his thighs. "No heroics McCoy. Just take a head count and report back," Woody firmly instructed.

With a jaunty salute, Danny followed Matt around the bend.

* * *

Jeffers squinted in the late afternoon sun when he saw flash come around the ridge. It took a second to recognize the rider.

"Cavanaugh," he yelled out, almost welcoming. "Your hands where I can see them..."

Max held the reins of his horse loosely and let the animal meander into camp at its own pace. It gave time for the two bumbling fools of Jeffers' guard to fumble for their long irons. Max knew he was fast enough to take them out...but Jeffers was too nervous. Too nervous to be certain he could get a shot out first.

"Carl. I was hoping to find Cahill out here. I came to talk some business with you..."

Matt pulled up at the same rise Max had hid out on for two days. He waved for Danny to take cover. They couldn't make out what was going on but there was no mistaking Jeffers skinny frame...along with Max Cavanaugh. This changed things. He spun his finger around in the air to tell Danny that they had what they came for. The two men backed out the way they came...

Max dismounted with his hands out to his side. "Where's Cahill?"

"Kevin...had an unfortunate mishap...along with your daughter, I'm sorry to say."

Max's blood ran cold with the mention of Jordan's name. He jumped the lanky man. Jeffers yelled for his minions to keep their distance. Max may have ten inches and two stones on him, but Carl had the trump card. "The marshal we asked you to take care of is responsible. He saw a golden opportunity and wants to take over. He killed both Malden and Cahill to eliminate the overhead. Jordan was just collateral damage to him...You have to believe me. Max, we worked together for years. I had your back and you had mine when the territory wasn't as domesticated as it is now. "

Max's grip on Jeffers's shirt wavered. "I don't believe you."

"Believe this." Jeffers gingerly reached in his breast pocket and produced Jordan's locket. "I took it off her dead body. I know what it meant to her...what it meant to her mother. I couldn't see that Yankee taking it as a prize."

Max let him go and grabbed the locket out of his hand. Jeffers visibly relaxed. Like a dog to a bitch in heat, Max was always so easily played.

"Max...Max," he sing-songed. "You and me. We can make this blue-boy pay for his sins. Then we can ride out...Partners. We can move the operation west... Closer to the railroad. Think about it Max. Revenge and a fresh start. Away from Tyler … away from the ghosts of the past..."

Max felt like he had just been swept up in one of the tornados that always threaten the eastern plains in the Spring. Unannounced and deadly, they swooped down out of nowhere to wreak havoc...just like the marshal did the second he rode into town. What did he really know about Hoyt? Papers could be forged, he knew. He had made mistakes in his life. Mistakes he regretted. The only goodness he had left in his life was now dead. He held the proof in his hand. Death would be the only way Jordan would let her mother's locket go.

* * *

Woody pushed Ben down behind him while he wordlessly directed the rest of his men to take positions along the ridge. "I want you so damn close to the ground you can count every grain of sand under your nose," Woody hissed in Ben's ear. "If you as much as breathe...I'll God damn shoot you myself."

Satisfied the boy was as protected as possible, Woody turned his attention to the scene playing out before him. He could believe his eyes. It was obvious Tallulah was right. He recognized Jeffers by his emancipated form. Matt counted two guards, which Woody verified. Then there was Max. Woody didn't want to believe it when Danny McCoy told him that Max was there. He wanted to be wrong about the man...for Jordan's sake. The men were busily loading the back of a flatbed wagon with the cache of arms. There was no reason to rush in until they were all visible. Woody held up his hand to tell the men to stand-by until all four men were out in the open...then it would be easy to take them out. Woody had set out to take Jeffers and his men out. Max's presence put a crimp in his plan. There was no way he could kill Jordan's father.

"On my word," Woody whispered to Seeley. "Take out the one on the left. McCoy, you got the one on the right...I want Jeffers. Max comes back alive."

Matt raised his revolver to take his shot when the sun reflected off the steel shaft. It was just enough to make one of Jeffers' men take notice.

"_FEDERALES!" _

Matt didn't have a choice but to fire. The man was dead before he hit the ground, but his compadre was able to fire off a shot before Matt could take cover. The wire operator was grazed.Woody pulled Seeley down and shoved him over to Ben. "Stay down!"

The three left quickly barricaded themselves in the shack. With unlimited ammunition at their disposal Woody could see this turning out to be a bloody siege with his rag tag posse taking the brunt. "Damn, damnit, damn..." he muttered.

"Cover me," Danny said with an arrogant smile. Before Woody could stop the card playing cowboy, Danny had scrambled down the hill. Either the man was certifiable or he had some training. Woody and the others showered the cabin with a volley of fire leaving Woody briefly wondering if he ever was on the opposite side of the battlefield of the crazy rancher.

Once Danny was safely in position on the blindside of the cabin, Woody yelled out. "Carl Jeffers! This is United States Marshal Woodrow Hoyt! You are wanted for kidnapping, attempted murder, racketeering...murder. We have you surrounded! Come out with your hands in the air!"

Carl's answer was a hail of gunfire towards the rise.

"We have witnesses Jeffers! If you surrender I'll make sure you get a fair trial."

"You said he wasn't legit..." Max hissed from inside the cabin.

"It's a trick Max. He wants us out in the open so he can kill us. Like he did your Jordan." Carl bit back.

When it became apparent Carl wasn't going to budge Woody played his own trump card. "Max! Max Cavanaugh! Don't do this to Jordan! She needs you!"

"She's dead!" Max yelled back. "You killed her."

"No. She's not. Cahill and Jeffers took her. They tried to lynch her out by the old sulfur mines...She fine, Max. Garret is with her. She's fine!"

Max left his spot near the window and cornered Jeffers on the back wall of the shack. "You said he killed her."

"Kill him!" Jeffers yelled to his man, but before the man could lift his gun, Danny lined up a shot from the broken window and put a .22 caliber bullet in the Mexican's chest.

Max, using the same gun he had used to 'watch Carl's back' a lifetime ago, pressed the barrel in Carl's gut and pulled the trigger. He dropped his weapon the second the door flew open and Woody pushed his way inside.

"I came here to end it," Max said slowly turning around with his hands in the air. "My business and my land were one thing...but then you came and they began to threaten Jordan. I came here with the sole purpose to kill them. Then Jeffers told me Jordan was dead. He gave me her locket and said you killed her when you killed Malden and Cahill..."

Woody leaned over to pick up Max's gun and said, "Malden was dead by the time we figured out Jordan was missing. Your daughter put up a hell of a fight. She kept herself alive for over a day giving us time to find her. I only had two shots. I needed one to cut the rope. Jeffers got lucky. I wasn't lying, Max. She needs you. She's scared and she hurt...but she's alive."

"Let me see her and I'll go peacefully."

Woody smiled at Danny. "It'll be dark soon. McCoy, do me a fair and go tell Ben he can stop counting grains of sand and have him come down here and drive this wagon into town...oh ...and thanks. It was a bone head move...but it worked."

"That's high praise...from a Yank," Danny said with a cocky grin.

Once Danny was gone Woody handed Max back his gun. "All I saw here today was a father that was concerned about his daughter's safety. Go to her Max. She's at Garret's..."

Max turned to leave but stopped long enough to fish Jordan's locket out of his pocket. "I told Jordan to trust you. I should have taken my own advice." He slipped the necklace in Woody's hand. "I'm trusting you with my daughter's heart, Hoyt. Don't hurt her."

Woody's fingers wrapped around the shiny pendent and he swore he could feel her warmth in the metal. He watched as Max rode out with a few of the riders anxious to get back to town and tiredly pulled himself up on his own mount. All that was left to escort the arms back into town and wait until the Army came to collect them. A few days of paperwork and tying up a few loose ends, and his job here would be done. Any other case would have him itching to pack his bags. He slipped Jordan's necklace securely in his shirt pocket and pulled out a thin cigar. The slow pace of the flatbed would give him time to think.

Woody had just finishing lighting his smoke as Matt rode up to his side. "I just wanted to thank you for letting my ride on this." The statement came out of Matt's mouth so quick and so softly that Woody would have missed it completely if he hadn't been looking a the man.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I'm not saying it twice," Matt grumbled.

Woody arched his eyebrow. Even though Matt's shirtsleeve was covered with blood, it looked like his injury was superficial at worst. His gratitude was confusing.

Matt pulled the stained shirtsleeve out and said, "I figure this will give me an edge over copper bathtubs and stories about the opera ...at least for a few days."

"Glad I could help..."

Matt harrumphed and rode ahead hoping to get back to town before Jeffery had a chance to recover from his ride and corner Lily for himself.

"Man, this has got to be the most exciting day of my life...outside of marrying Lori and having the twins, of course. And to think, you get to do things like this every day!"

Woody rested his forearm on his saddle horn and snorted, brushing away the budding hero-worship. Watch men die was never exciting. "Your life is ten times more exciting than mine is, Ben."

"Sir? It's not very exciting just watching my crops grow."

Woody chuckled then. "I guess it depends on which side of the fence you're watching those crops grow."


	17. Never Far From His Heart

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Never Far From His Heart**

It was late in the afternoon when Woody finally returned to Tyler with the flat bed containing its cache of illegal guns. He unloaded them at the sheriff's office and locked them in one of the tiny cells. That was the best he could do in securing them, but he seriously doubted any of the citizens of Tyler would even think of stealing the ill-gotten gain that had set their tiny city on its ear. As he shut the door behind him, Woody mused to himself that the town was now without a sheriff. He doubted Max would want the job back. As a matter of fact, as conflicted as the man was today, Woody pretty much surmised that Max may very well take off a while to find the peace his mind craved.

Guns secured, Woody crossed the street to Garret's office. She had been on his mind all day, tucked back in the recesses while he was going after Jeffers, but never far from his heart. He entered the office and glanced to his left, noting that Garret was cleaning Matt's superficial wound, while Lily watched with wide eyes as Matt relayed the story of Jeffers' capture and subsequent death. Woody gave the man a sly wink as he turned the doorknob of Jordan's room.

Max was with her, sitting beside the bed holding his daughter's hand. "Garret said she's kind of been in and out of it all day…waking up and going back to sleep," Max told him before Woody could even pose the questions. "The swelling's not come back…she's sore…her neck and her throat are both sore."

Woody nodded, coming over to stand beside her bed. At some point in time, Lily or Max one must have gone back to the claim to retrieve Jordan's nightgown…her blouse and dark skirt were laid over a chair in the corner and she was now in a pink nightgown…tiny ruffles and lace.

However the gown did nothing to hide the bruises or the rope burn ringing her neck. Woody still winced at the sight, his stomach uncomfortably lurching. Why anyone would want to do this to a woman was beyond him…and he silently swore no one would ever do anything like that to Jordan again.

_But you won't be here to prevent it…_ the tiny voice in the back of his head reminded him. _You'll be on your next assignment in a week…two weeks at the most. Then who's going to protect her? You know Max is going leave as soon as he can …to try to get some perspective on his life. Nigel and Garret…they love her…but not like you do._

Max watched the young marshal for a minute, noting the conflicting emotions that were playing across Woody's face. Max understood them…he had felt them himself. When he had courted and won Emily, he had been a young officer fresh out of the army. Being a lawman was the only thing that appealed to him. With Emily's encouragement, he had tried to make a go of it.

Only to find it blew up in his face, costing him his wife and very nearly his daughter. Maybe Woody would be different. Maybe he would find a way to blend it all together and not have to make a choice.

And maybe, just maybe, Jordan would encourage the marshal like her mother had encouraged him. Woody loved her just the way she was, and Max knew it.

So maybe, just maybe, in the not-too-distant future the couple would give him a reason to visit Tyler again….grandchildren would be a strong magnet to his heart. He could already feel the tug. Clearing his throat, he stood. "I need to step out a while…could you sit with her for a few minutes? She's kinda disoriented when she wakes up. Garret says it's the laudanum he gave her to make her sleep…."

Woody nodded. "Yes, sir. It'd be my pleasure."

"Good." Max walked to the door, but paused before he opened it. "She's been askin' for you, Hoyt. She was worried. She knew what you had to do."

Woody looked at Max, wordless curiosity on his face. Max sighed heavily. "I was a lawman too many years for her not to know what had to happen." He shut the door behind him.

Finally alone with her, Woody decided to forego the chair Max had been in and sat down gently beside her on the bed, once again letting his fingers run through the tips of her hair.

He didn't mean to wake her…he honestly didn't…but the brush of his fingers caused her eyelids to flutter open. For a moment, she held his blue gaze with her own chocolate one, and felt a shiver run up her spine. He hadn't shaved in two days, and with his dung-colored duster and the dark look still on his face, he looked like the Lucifer that had walked into her father's bar a few weeks ago.

But his smile melted the thought from her mind. Damn, he was the finest-looking thing she had seen since she left Boston…_maybe the finest ever,_ she thought before she tried to say his name. "Woody…" her voice sounded as bruised as her neck.

"Hey, shhh….don't try to talk…"

"But…" she struggled to try to sit up in bed.

"Don't…Jordan, you need to rest."

"I've been resting all day…thanks to Garret. The man drugged me with enough laudanum to put down a horse."

Woody chuckled. "Obviously the man knew what he was up against. Here…hold still and let me help…" He assisted her in sitting up and adjusted the pillows behind her back. "Is that better?"

Jordan nodded, thrilled that her new position brought her in closer proximity to him. The time she had been conscious, she had worried about him…and asked about where he was and if he was all right. She didn't get any answers until her father came in…and she had been less concerned about where Max had been at than if he had any word from Woody. "Tell me…" she managed to say, her voice sounding rough.

"It's not pretty, Jordan…"

"Things like this never are…"

Woody struggled to give her a white washed version of what happened, strongly indicating that Max had gotten a jump on his posse and had Jeffers cornered before Woody even got there. He purposely omitted the fact that Max had nearly joined Jeffers in his gun smuggling.

Jordan eyed him carefully when it was all over, satisfied that he hadn't been hurt and was telling her the truth. "It's over, then?" she whispered.

Nodding, Woody replied, "Almost. I still have to notify the army that the guns are here and wait around until they come pick them up…then there's the obligatory paper work."

"And you get your next assignment and ride out of town?"

Woody looked down. He couldn't meet her gaze. "Yeah."

He heard her suck in her breath before she spoke. "You saved my life," she said, her voice remaining rough and quiet.

"Jordan…"

She put her finger on his lips to silence him. "You saved my life, Woody. I can't thank you enough…no one has ever done anything like that for me before…so don't try to down play it or say it was 'just your job'. I don't care…if it wasn't for you…"

Woody felt his own throat close and begin to choke. "Don't say it." His voice came out as rough as hers.

"Still…thank you." To his surprise, she leaned over and gently kissed his lips.

It was a soft kiss….as light and fleeting as a spring breeze.

Leaving him wanting so much more. It was then he remembered her locket.

"I found something of yours," he murmured, their lips still close. Holding her gaze, he reached in his shirt pocket and pulled the necklace out, bringing it up to her vision.

"My locket!"

Woody placed it in her hand, watching her reaction with pleasure…as she ran her fingers over the fine chain and the heart. "I never thought I'd see this again…Jeffers took it off of me before….before…."

"I know…"

"Thank you!" Her eyes shown with unshed tears. "Would…would you put it on?"

"I'd love to…" She bent her head and moved her shining mane of chestnut curls so he could fasten it at the back of her neck. When he was through with his task, he was rewarded with one of her genuine smiles. "It looks beautiful on you."

Fingering the locket, she knew it was time. This marshal may be riding out of town in few days taking her heart with him, but she felt he deserved to know. "It was my mother's…" she began. "You know my mother is dead…this is the only thing I have to remember her with…her death…well …it was difficult in and of itself…but the fact that she was…she was.."

This time Woody put a finger on her lips to silence her. "I know, Jordan. Garret told me…"

Her lips rounded into a wordless "O" of surprise, leaving him little choice but to close the distance. "Can I get a thank you kiss for this, too?" his lips temptingly fractions of an inch from hers.

A nod from her was all it took.

He kissed her then, slow and easy, allowing her time to adjust to the pressure of his mouth and the feel of his arms through the thin material of her nightgown. When he felt her response, he deepened the kiss, lightly tracing her lower lip with his tongue…and was pleasantly surprised when she opened her mouth beneath his.

Still keeping things at an easy pace, he leisurely explored her mouth and was just as happily taken back when she did the same to his…only now the tenor of the embrace changed…Jordan felt a tension and passion rise between them that had been simmering beneath the surface, but only now chose to erupt.

And it took her breath away. Those dim-witted penny dreadfuls of Nigel's had been right…she gasped and felt herself cling just a little tighter to Woody, desperately trying to find something solid to anchor herself to as his lips still were stirring up a storm in her that her body had never experienced.

Feeling her reaction, Woody gently eased her back on the pillows, still in a sitting position and began to lighten his kiss, finally reluctantly pulling away…but nearly losing it when he looked back down into her eyes and saw a hunger there that Jordan didn't recognize…but he did all too well.

But he was experienced enough in this realm of romance to know that to push anything else with her right now would be disastrous. First because she was still recovering from nearly being hanged…second, she deserved better. A quieter time, a place they wouldn't be disturbed.

_Your ring on her finger and her last name Hoyt…_the tiny voice in his head prompted. _So what you going to do about it? Ride off into the sunset to your next assignment?_

_Or do something you swore you'd never do when your family split up after the war? Stop running and put down roots?_

* * *

Woody telegraphed army headquarters the next day and informed them that the gun smuggling ring had been taken care of and the illegal arms were waiting for pick up at the Tyler Jail. Matt read the message with interest before he sent the information out. "Guess you'll be leaving us soon, huh, Marshal?"

Woody nodded. "Probably. It's only a matter of time before I get my next assignment."

"How much time?"

"Well, depending on when the army sends a contingent out here to pick up the guns…probably a week. Two at the most."

"Shame. A real shame."

Woody raised an eyebrow at the man, who was still wearing a bandage around his superficial wound. "A shame? Seems you'd be glad to get rid of me…since you got injured under my watch."

Matt grinned. "Best thing that ever happened. Now Lily thinks I'm brave, fearless, _and_ handsome, thanks to you." Then his face took on a slightly more serious look. "No…I mean with Tyler without a sheriff now and all…I think several of us were hoping you'd step up to the plate…stay here and be our sheriff instead of leavin'. I know I would like it…and so would Bug and Nigel…and Lily … and probably Max and Garret. And I think a certain lady doctor would really like it. Although it might take some powerful persuadin' on your part to get her to admit it."

"Sheriff, huh?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah. Sheriff."

Woody pulled his Stetson back down a little further on his head. "I'll think about it, Matt." Then noting the telegrapher's surprised look, he continued. "I will. It's just that…." Woody bit his lip, "it's been a long time since I was in one place for more than a few months…really since I was sixteen."

"Tyler's a great place to settle down, Woody. Good folks. And people here feel like they can trust you. Even Rene' Walcott. And that's saying a lot. Think about it."

Woody nodded and left the telegraph office. His next stop was going to be Garret's …Jordan had spend one more night in his care just to be safe…an issue she had to have both Woody and Max talk her into. She was ready to go back to the claim and clean up the mess that Jeffers and his band had left. Lily had calmed her down by saying that it had already been taken care of and a brand new rug to cover the blood spot on the floor had been sent over, compliments of Lu Simmons. Jordan's eyes had grown wide at that, until Lily told her that Lu had brought it herself and told Lily that Jordan was every bit the hero that Woody and Max were…that she had kept her wits about her and allowed Woody time to discover where the smuggling ring was hold out. A rug was the least Lu could do.

But now his plans changed…sheriff…of Tyler. He needed some time to think about what that may mean. For the first time in Woody's life, or at least since he was sixteen, he'd have one place to call home. After his father's death, he had lived with various relatives until his younger brother Cal was old enough to be on his own. Then he had joined the army…and then there was the war. After that, he had been accepted as a US Marshal. All of those positions required that he pull up stakes and move every few months…sometimes even every few weeks. To think that he would have a place to put down roots was almost beyond his apprehension.

Maybe some land to call his own, too…but even that didn't sound like enough to keep him in Tyler unless Jordan was willing to become his wife. The thought of living near her, seeing her everyday, and her not be his…it was painful. He wasn't sure when he had fallen in love with her, but it stood to reason it was the night she had decked him with her right hook. Woody rubbed his jaw at the memory and chuckled.

The dusty, dirty town of Tyler had its appeals. Woody guessed the first stop would be Mrs. Walcott's General Store. Rene' was sort of the unappointed town leader. Woody figured if he had her in his corner, the position of sheriff would be a shoo in.

The next stop would be Max's claim, before Jordan got back home. Woody had a feeling Max was still enough of an old-fashioned Irishman that he would want Woody to ask him for Jordan's hand in marriage before he ever approached her.

Here's hoping Max would let bygones be bygones and not punch him out again…


	18. You Have a Lovely Daughter, Mr Cavanaug

**Chapter Eighteen**

**You Have a Lovely Daughter, Mr. Cavanaugh…..**

Woody sighed with relief as he left Walcott's General Store. Somehow, despite the fact that Rene' said she was only a shop owner and had no particular pull with any of the town officials, Woody seriously doubted that claim. Mrs. Walcott could have easily governed that town without breaking a sweat, and most of the citizens of Tyler were particular about staying on the woman's good side. But Rene was more than willing to throw Woody's name in the ring for the position of sheriff and seemed sure he would get it. "You're the most qualified, and frankly….no one else wants it."

He mounted Chevelle with a little more trepidation when he rode out to the claim to see Max. He had stopped by Garret's after leaving the General Store and Garret informed him that Jordan was still resting. If Woody wanted to stop by later in the afternoon, she should be ready to go home…and the marshal could escort her back to the claim. Garret was still worried enough about her that he didn't want Jordan riding by herself all the way back to her home.

Stopping in the middle of the paddock, Woody looked around, trying to get a feel of where Max was at. Hearing noises coming from the barn, Woody surmised Max was in that building and started for it, just a hitch of hesitation in his stride. "Mr. Cavanaugh?"

"I told you before Woody, it's Max. What are you doing here? Is anything wrong with Jordan?"

Woody shook his head. "No. Jordan's fine. I stopped and checked on her before I came out here."

Max looked the young marshal over carefully, tilting his head to one side. Yep. It was there. _That_ look. "Then why are you here, Hoyt?" the older man asked roughly.

"It is about Jordan. And depending on how you take this, it could be very right, or totally wrong."

"Then you better do some tall talking to make me think it's right, son…."

Woody swallowed hard and felt fine beads of perspiration break out on his forehead. Nervously he wondered when the afternoon had gotten so hot. "Well, Jordan…" Woody nearly blushed when he heard his voice crack like a nervous adolescent.

"Yes?" Max asked, stopping his chore of spreading clean hay in the stalls to lean against his pitchfork and watch the younger man with amusement. "Jordan what?'

"You have a beautiful daughter, Mr. Cavanaugh…Max….she's smart, and …."

"And street savvy, and doesn't take any crap from nobody….you, me, or sometimes even God Himself.

Nodding Woody continued. "I feel I've gotten to know her pretty well…."

"How well?'

"Not _that_ well, sir…." Woody's voice cracked again and he felt one of the beads of perspiration run down his face. "No….no….sir."

"Glad to hear it."

"But what I have gotten to know I really like….and admire….and respect…."

"Good to know Hoyt. Because you realize she's not going to change who she is or what she does for anyone." Max gave Woody a knowing look.

"I realize that, sir. And I don't want her to change anything." Woody gazed levelly back at Max. "She's too special just the way she is to think about changing for anyone – including me. But what I'm trying to say…to ask you…is that I love your daughter, Max. I'm not sure when it happened, but I do. I don't want to change her. I just want to be with her. I guess what I'm asking is your permission ….your blessing….of her hand in marriage."

Max threw Woody a hard look and went back to cleaning the stalls. The silence stretched into a full two minutes before Max could clear his throat and reply. "She's my little girl, Woody. She always will be. She's all I have left…but I'll let you in on a little secret. She needs you as much as you need her. She cares for you….deeply." Max paused a moment and wiped his shirt sleeve across his eyes. "You realize you get more than just Jordan with this?" he asked.

"I realize that, sir. I'm glad and proud you'll be my father-in-law."

Max grinned. "No, that's not what I mean, boy. I mean I'm keeping my plans to go away for a while. Get some perspective. I got a sister in Kansas I haven't seen in ten years or better and neither of us are getting' any younger. Figured I'd go out there and see her for a while….No. Besides Jordan, you'll get my claim."

Woody's head spun. He never anticipated having 80 acres of Texas land in his wildest dreams…and never such a large house.

"Yeah, it'll be yours and Jordan's. Do me a favor and fill it with grandkids."

Woody numbly nodded. His head was still reeling.

"But I'm telling you one time and one time only, Hoyt. You hurt her, and I'll come back and kick your ass……"

* * *

Woody rode back into town grinning to himself. Now to find the woman and tie up last loose end of this odyssey. He opened the door to Garret's office to find the doctor and Mrs. Walcott in deep discussion. "Afternoon….sheriff," Garret said, grinning.

"It's not official yet," Woody replied, throwing a nervous glance at Rene'.

"Just the details need to be worked out." Garret handed him a leather pouch. Woody opened it and spilled the contents out in his hand -- a brass star with the word "SHERIFF" etched on it. He looked on it with disbelief. A job. In one town. Roots….the very things that used to make him want to turn around and run were now just the very things he needed.

"Wear it with pride and responsibility," Rene' said softly, going over to him and pinning it on. "There have been some good men….really good men ….that have worn it before you and done an outstanding job. Tom Malden being the exception, of course."

Woody nodded, his throat now as dry as the dusty streets of Tyler. "Where's Jordan?" he managed to get out.

Garret hid a knowing smile. If he was a betting man, which he was – he and Nigel already had a pool going about when the wedding would be – he would wager that his assistant was the real reason Woody was staying in Tyler. "She's at the Pogue."

"The Pogue?"

Garret nodded. "Yeah. Max left her the bar….she's taking inventory and trying to talk Nigel into running the joint….give him an honest day's wages for an honest day's work and still allow her to work for me. You will still allow her to work for me?" Garret asked, raising one eyebrow.

Woody nodded and pulled on his duster. Tipping his hat to the couple he headed outside and down the street.

* * *

"What in the Sam hell are you doing here?" he asked loudly to Jordan. She jumped at the sound of his voice, deep in inventory of mugs and beer.

"Dad left me the bar, Woody. I need to make sure we have everything to run it tonight…"

"No you don't. Nigel can do that…"

Jordan rolled her eyes. _Men…_ she thought, _even this one…_"Please don't tell me I need to rest. I've rested for two days….thanks to Garret and his drugs. I need to be out and about and feel useful again. I'm fine….just sore."

Woody looked her over then. From head to toe….a slow exercise, letting his eyes burn through her, as if peeling away her clothes while he did it…seeing the bruises that still vividly ringed her neck despite the fact she now had her blouse buttoned up to her throat. Jordan moved uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny. It brought back memories of their first meeting….here, at the Pogue, behind the bar. When he thought she was one of _those _women.

"That's not the issue," he bit out.

"It's not? Then what is?"

"No woman….no decent woman….should be behind a bar….in a bar….working at a bar…."

Jordan felt anger begin to lick its way through her veins. "I _am_ a decent woman, Marshal. I just have a business to run….how dare you try to tell me what to do? You have no right to try to tell me…"

Her voice trailed off as Woody had made his way across the room, leaned across the counter, hooked one finger in her blouse and pulled her across surface, making their faces fractions of an inch apart. Swallowing her fear, Jordan continued, "You have no reason to try to tell me what to do…"

"Reason? What about the fact that I don't want my wife working in a bar?"

_Wife? Where in the hell did that come from?_ "Your wife?" she whispered, looking into his eyes…silently willing them not to be quite so upset…

Suddenly his lips and the corners of his eyes turned up into a grin. "Yeah. My wife. I know it's not moonlight and roses and violins….but…." He pulled her out from behind the counter and dropped to one knee. "Jordan Cavanaugh…._Dr._ Jordan Cavanaugh…will you marry me?"

"M ..m…marry you? But you're leaving soon on your next assignment…US Marshals don't normally have wives…"

Woody grinned up at her and pulled his duster back, revealing his new badge. "True. But it's okay for Tyler's new sheriff to be married."

* * *

Bug won the wedding pool. Woody and Jordan were married three weeks later and Max hung around long enough to give his daughter away. Woody thought Jordan had never looked lovelier than she did that hot Tyler afternoon when Preacher Stiles performed the ceremony. Rene' had ordered her a dress and it came in on the same train as the contingent to pick up the illegal guns. As far as they and the army knew, Jordan was the only bride in Texas that had her wedding dress delivered by the first brigade.

After the traditional wedding lunch and well wishes from the citizens of Tyler, Woody and Jordan slowly rode out to their claim. Max had left for Kansas after lunch…and they had the house to themselves for a long weekend honeymoon. Woody didn't even have to work. He deputized Matt Seeley and left him a gun and a badge…making Lily swoon even more over the tall red-head. Woody imagined there would be another wedding in Tyler before too long.

They dismounted, and after Woody stabled Chevelle and Camino, he went back inside the house. Jordan was standing in the middle of the living room…slowly looking around. Nothing was out of place…yet everything was different now that she was _married_. Something she never thought would happen to her. "Are you okay?" Woody asked. Her wide-eyed expression was scaring him just a little.

"I'm fine…" She held out her left hand that bore a narrow gold band on her ring finger. Her mother's wedding ring. She had no idea Max had saved it for her. "It's just that I never figured I'd ever be…well, married."

Woody chuckled and put his arms around her. "If it's any consolation, I never thought I would either." He pulled her close and kissed her forehead lightly. "But we are," he lowered his lips to her ear. "Nervous?"

Shivering at the sensation of his warm breath against her sensitive skin, she nodded. "Yeah…a little…"

"Don't be…" he moved his lips to just below her ear then….in that delicate spot that sent tremors up her spine.

"That's easy for you to say."

"Really?"

Jordan nodded as he turned her around so that her back was to him. Still kissing her jaw line, he untied the laces on her dress and began to ease them out of their bindings. "Really," she managed to get out before his lips found her bare shoulder. "I mean…I know…you've probably done this…you have done this…before…but I…" her voice trailed off.

They hadn't discussed the physical side of marriage. Other than a few kisses here and there the three weeks prior to their marriage, they had barely been left alone. Lily was always with her, helping her with the wedding or she had been working with Garret. And Woody had been thrown directly into his job as sheriff. She wasn't embarrassed that she had never been with a man, but Woody needed to know….she just had never had a chance to tell him.

"I know, Jordan." His voice in his ear was softer than snowflakes.

"You do?" She turned to face him, searching his eyes for some kind of answer.

"I know. I could tell it the first time I kissed you."

"Oh." She felt a blush rise to her cheeks. "I guess I should have…"

"No. It's okay…don't worry. We'll take things as slow as you want…I just want you to feel comfortable. That's all. The rest…the rest will come. Just relax. It's just me and you…and all the time in the world." He pulled her to him and kissed her.

Jordan enjoyed his kisses…more than he knew, she was sure. It was easy to get carried away and forget about anything when Woody's lips were on hers. She eagerly opened her mouth and let him explore it and her brain began to grow dim to anything but him. She was barely aware when he pushed her wedding dress to the floor…a puddle of white silk against the dark blue and vivid burgundies of Lu's rug.

Woody stopped for a minute to gaze down at her…her dusky eyes and soft lips…he nearly chuckled when he remembered how amazed he was the first time he kissed her…that such a prickly woman could have such soft lips. God knows there was nothing prickly about her now. She was all soft curves and sweetness. He counted himself a lucky man – very lucky – that he was the only one that knew just how sweet. Woody picked her up and carried her to their bedroom, gently depositing her on the feather tick

Jordan shivered again when the coolness of the sheets hit her back. She knew there was no going back now, not that she wanted to. Being in his arms felt right…it felt like home. So when Woody began to kiss her again, she wound her arms around her neck and arched her body to his. She wanted to be as close as she could.

His moan against her lips told her that she had done the right thing. He began to trail soft kisses down her throat and across her collar bone…and his hand moved to her breast. Jordan inhaled sharply at the sensation of gentle pressure and teasing strokes around her nipple. Woody's lips returned to hers. "Am I going to fast?"

Jordan shook her head furiously. Whatever he was doing, she didn't want him to stop. Nigel's dimwitted penny dreadfuls didn't hold a candle to what Woody Hoyt was now doing to her body. And he was her husband…he could do this every night. She bit back a moan as this thought flitted across her mind. No wonder Lori Stoneman always seemed so happy.

Woody chuckled against her lips and began to ease down the straps of her chemise, swearing and then thanking God at the same time. She was beautiful…more beautiful than he imagined. More beautiful than he deserved, he was sure. _Don't rush it, don't rush it_, _don't rush it … _his head and heart told him, helping him fight down the urge to pull everything off of her at once and make her his. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the garment over her head and let it fall to the floor.

Jordan's eyes followed the motion before they turned back to gaze into Woody's. There was a fire there…a desire she hadn't seen before…and it thrilled and frightened her at the same time. But both of those emotions were forgotten when he kissed her and once again trailed his lips over the hollow of her throat, over the ring of bruises that were finally beginning to fade, down to her breast. When he took one stiff peak in his mouth her voice caught in the back of her throat. _Dear God…_her back arched completely off the feather tick.

Woody gently lowered her back down before he turned his attention to her other breast, but he got the same reaction. He hadn't expected Jordan to be maidenly-shy, but the passion behind her reactions were driving him faster than he wanted to go. _Slow down…_he told himself.

Unfortunately certain of his body parts weren't paying attention. He stifled a groan and sought her lips again, as his thumbs began a slow sweep to the underside of her breast.

He steadied himself and his breathing, resting his forehead against hers. "Ah…Jordan…"

"Kiss me…" her voice came out sultry and husky…a tone neither he nor she recognized. But it was his undoing. His mouth sought hers hungrily this time, letting the passion spin. Blindly his hands reached for her drawers and her fingers sought the buttons on his shirt.

She managed to get it open and push it off without too many problems. Greedily she let her hands wander over the expanse of his chest until her questing fingers found his scar. Abruptly she stopped. "What?" she asked.

"What what?" he responded, managing to undo the ribbon on her under drawers and slowly beginning to slide them down her hips.

"This." She ran the tip of her index finger over the angry red incision…a bright contrast to his fair skin.

"War wound," he bit out, pushing the underwear down to her knees and was now untying her garters.

"Wait…"

_Wait? Jesus, the woman has no idea what she's asking me to do…_ "Jordan…I'm not sure I can…"

"Where'd you get injured? What battle?"

Woody sighed. He had tried for so long to forget it…fought back the memories….the blood, the dead and dying men…the feeling of utter hopelessness that pervaded both sides of the war. "Manassas," he said, feeling some of the passion leave the room. _Oh hell…I should have told her earlier …I was going to…I needed to…I should have…damn, damnit, damn…_

He never noticed her finger stopped tracing his scar. It wasn't until he felt her small hand on the side of his face that he realized she had ceased that motion. She turned his face so he was looking at her in the eyes. "Manassas. Woody. I was there…Garret and I both were….I don't remember you, but I remember the battle…vividly. My God, you could have been killed…"

Shock bolted through him. No, he would have remembered seeing her…she must have been on another side of the battlefield…but that was the worst of the worst battles. The cries of dying men and horses remained stuck in his head for months afterwards. To be honest, it had ever really gone away. And she…she could have… "You could have been killed, too," he whispered hoarsely.

The passion died for a moment as the realization that it was more than chance that had brought a US Marshal from the east to fall in love with a woman doctor in Texas. Call it fate, call it _metempsychosis_, as Bug did…call it whatever you wanted to …but they were destined to be together. The odds may have been against them, but somehow they had still found each other, two sides of the same coin. Soul mates. His mouth found hers again…this time with the same hunger, the same heat, but more passion.

He loved her then…not with the hesitation of a groom with a virgin bride, but with the knowledge that they belonged together. And when he gently eased himself into her, he swallowed her groan of discomfort and stilled, letting her adjust to him. It was only when she arched against him and wrapped her legs around his waist that he begin to move again, making her his in the way that was as old as time…and just as sweet. He held her when the first waves of pleasure swept over her, softly kissing her as she floated back down to earth.

She murmured something against his lips and wound her arms around his neck. He buried his face in her long chestnut hair…hair that still smelled like the four o'clocks she wore for their wedding. Sighing deeply, she pulled his face back to hers for a kiss. "We were meant to be together," he said against her lips, between kisses.

"I know," she replied, a wealth of meaning behind two simple words. "I believe a person's direction in life is not left up to chance. They may lose their way or follow false signs. A person can only be happy when they are on the right path. Mine is with you.

Nothing could have kept us apart."

Woody softly smiled down at her, fully intent on making her his once again…but some damn fool was now trying to bang their front door down. Groggily he wondered just who in the hell would interrupt a couple on their honeymoon….


	19. DejaFrickingVu

**Chapter 18**

**Deja-fricking-vu**

"_I'm a big boy Jordan...but I'll call. Go on," he nodded to the table. "I think you should worry more about Dr. Macy. Make sure he takes a cab. I'll talk to you later."_

_

* * *

Jordan waited until she saw Woody's Chevelle pull safely out of the parking lot before she began to work her way back to the table. There was nothing she could do for Garret except pour him in a cab until he admitted to himself he had a problem. Her own were another story. With J.D. gone she couldn't help but ask herself what she wanted in life...more to the fact, where did Woody stand. For now, she had a table full of good friends and a high-visibility closed cased to celebrate._

"Did Woody make it out okay?" Lily asked toying with the straw of her soda. Her question left little doubt in Jordan's mind what...or who...was on the table for conversation while she was up.

"I wrapped his fancy-ass excuse for a car in bubble wrap just make sure." Jordan shot back with a touch of teasing sarcasm. "What do you say we all go back to my place? We can watch old Law and Order reruns and you guys can tell me how much I look like that ADA chick with the tacky wardrobe..."

Nigel unfolded his lanky frame from the cramped booth. "As delightful as that sounds darling, you'll have to count me out," Nigel said stretching the kinks out of his back. "I've got an early shift and you know I need my beauty sleep."

Jordan rolled her eyes but didn't say anything when he leaned down to kiss her cheek and waved good night to everyone. Before Jordan could up the offer and include pizza Lily made her excuses and said she was going to make sure Garret made it home. Bug told her he didn't see anything wrong with the way Claire dressed and said goodnight himself. Suddenly, the table that was so crowded that it verged on uncomfortable was empty. Jordan added her share to the tab and handed it to the waitress. There was nothing left to do but go home to her empty apartment.

Empty was good...

...At least that's what she told herself. On one hand she was glad J.D. was gone...and on the other the idea of going home alone left her feeling cold. As much as she didn't want to admit it...she didn't want to be alone. For the first time in days her El Camino started on the first try.

Jordan ended up driving aimlessly around downtown and found herself driving down a residential street named Tyler. The houses were quiet. Full of people that were tucked in bed for the night...like she should be. She stopped at a red light in front of a house with the name Stoneman on the mailbox. She grinned at plywood yard-card, in the shape of a stock, and planted in the front yard of the little house telling the world that Ben and Lori were the proud parents of a set of twin boys.

"Better them than me..." Jordan murmured to herself. She closed her eyes waiting for the light to change.

The next thing she knew she was seeing flashes of her life. No, not hers, but someone's. Vivid pictures, like a power point presentation...but not as boring...because it was like she was there, touching, tasting, smelling...feeling every moment. For a moment the outside world faded away and she felt a calm, secure lightness.

She saw three stair-stepped dark-haired boys, and _finally_ a blue-eyed little girl...oddly rewarding days of practicing state-of the art but almost _barbaric_ medicine and blissful nights spent in a little house with old-fashioned four o-clocks planted underneath every open window...waking up one Christmas to find a big copper tub with a red bow on it in the middle of her living room and remembering how she spent the rest of Christmas day...palominos and pintos...watching her children grow and have families of their own...growing old with the man she loved beside her.

She snapped out of it when the driver behind her blarred his horn at her and flashing her his middle finger indicating the light had changed.

"Back at you buddy" she cursed under her breath.

Jordan cursed her intermittent power steering and wrenched her El Camino out of the quiet little neighborhood. As she drove she couldn't shake her fantasy. At least that's the only examination she had for it. A fantasy that starred a man that had been in her thoughts too much lately. The whole daydream left her feeling a little shell-shocked and over come with this intense need to see him. Before she could second guess herself she was parked in front of his building...and for some strange reason her throat was so tight she could barely breathe.

* * *

"GO AWAY!" Woody yelled at the insistent knocking.

He fought to keep the dream alive but the vision began to die away like old fading photographs, along with the soft warmth of the feather tick and Jordan's arms. He sat up and scrubbed his hands down his face just in time to see John Wayne finish scoping out the room and order a whisky from the good looking barmaid.

Funny, he couldn't have only been out for more than a minute or two and still Woody felt like Rip Van Winkle waking up after twenty years. Armed with his second...or maybe it was his third wind, Woody leaned back to watch John Wayne light one of those skinny little cigars cowboys used to smoke and swore he could taste that bitter cheroot tobacco himself as bits and pieces of his strange dream still floated in and out his brain. The pounding started again, reminding Woody what had woke him up.

"Woody...? Are you alright?"

"Jordan?"

Though the door, Jordan's Boston accent sounded vaguely like his dream Jordan's Texas twang. He turned the TV off and took a deep breath. He had enough problems with a 21st century lady doc. He didn't need to add a 19th century subconscious one too.

"Yes, Jordan," she yelled back. "If you were expecting someone else, too bad. Come on, open the door."

Woody threw open the dead bolt and had to step back when Jordan pushed her way in. Her face was pale, but not overly so. He had been around her enough to know it did lose color that time of night.

"I said I'd call," he shrugged.

"I thought I'd save you the dime..."

He smiled. "A call costs a little more than a dime these days."

"So does gas...but I'm still here." she answered wondering when he started looking like a fallen alter boy who was about to steal the sacramental wine.

"Which begs the question...why?"

_Would you believe I pointed my car to go home and it ended up here? _"N..nothing. I was just worried, that's all."

Jordan unconsciously rubbed her neck. Woody noticed the thin colorful scarf she was wearing earlier was gone. It was now wrapped carelessly around her hand. The skin looked irritated. Woody asked her about it.

"My throat's a little sore...that's all," she said dropping her hand. "It's probably just the smoke at the restaurant.." _Do I smell sawdust?_

"The Beef and Brew is smoke-free..." he countered.

Jordan flipped her hand in dismissal. Most the nonchalance was lost as her scarf waved like a warning flag. With a smile she stuffed the irritating cloth in her bag feeling the thin knit snag on the dry skin of knuckles. "I need to stop wearing these things...they're like a noose at times."

Woody blanched but covered his discomfort with a little laugh. "So you drove over here to tell me you have a sore throat..."

"No." she said casually. "Maybe I should've put myself in that cab with Garret. I probably had too much to drink and not enough to eat. I had this weird..." _What? Out of body experience?_ "It was nothing. All I know is by the time I figured it out I shouldn't be behind the wheel, your place was a little closer."

_Closer? Pearl Street is four blocks north of the Beef and Brew. _

Woody's apartment was a few miles...south. "Weird what?"

Jordan studied the chapped skin on the tops of her hands like she'd never seen it before. "What do you _really _think about all that reincarnation bull we were talking about tonight?"

Thirty minutes ago Woody would have laughed and told her that it was just that...bull. _Now?_ "I was taught to believe that after we die that's it. We get a one way ticket to heaven or hell. Yet, I can't say I've never felt that sense of deja vu. But do I believe that some housewife that spiked her husband's meatloaf with rat poison was really Anne Boleyn in a past life; I'd have to say I'd rather leave that question for the DA's office."

Jordan's smile was a little too uncomfortable to be sincere. "...Oh. Just checking."

"Hey, I'm still too keyed up to sleep. Would you like to stay for coffee, maybe watch a movie?"

"What movie?"

Woody rubbed his chin. "I think this one is _"The Star Packer"._

Jordan's eyebrows disappeared under her hairline. "Pornos Wood?"

"No!...No, it's an old John Wayne flick on cable. He's a US Marshal that rides into town and takes the job as the sheriff to run some bad guys out of town. It's a classic..."

_Deja-fricking-vu._ "Like your car? You know, I think I'd like that."


End file.
